Growing Together
by SythiaSkyfire
Summary: What if Peeta and Katniss had become friends- or, more than friends- before the reaping? What would it take for Peeta to convince Katniss to go out with him? This story will follow how their relationship grew before the 74th Hunger Games. Cupcakes, sketches and blizzards- oh, my!
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: Anthing you recognize, such as characters, I do not own. I don't own the images used in the cover, either, though I did put it together to make the overall cover image. So no suing, please. :) This disclaimer pretains to all the chapters in this story.**_

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

"Ow." I rub the back of my head as I sit up, offering a hand to the person I crashed into. My heart jumps. It's Peeta Mellark. "S-sorry," I stutter as we both stand up. Students push past us, hurrying to leave the building, and I have to put a hand on the wall to keep myself from being shoved over.

"It's all right," Peeta answers evenly, stooping to gather up my fallen books. We're both silent for a few seconds as we collect my textbooks and folders, and when I accept the stack, I catch him looking at me like he wants to say something. At last he just asks, "Are you all right?"

"Fine," I answer automatically. No need to mention the rapidly forming bruise on my head. Before I know it, my feet have carried me to my locker and Peeta Mellark is nowhere to be seen. Good. He brings back too many memories. Good ones and bad ones.

I methodically unload my unneeded supplies into my locker, then shove the rest into my pack and head outside to collect Prim. As usual, she's waiting by the apple tree out front.

"Hey, Prim," I greet her, giving her a small smile.

She slips her small hand into mine and giggles, "Hi, Katniss. Guess what we learned today?"

"What?"

We begin walking towards home. Heat rolls off the coal-stained streets and I'm reminded that summer is just a few weeks away. Prim chatters and I listen. This is how it usually is on our walk home. I'm not inclined to talk overly much, like most girls my age.

When we get home, I sit Prim down at the kitchen table and go check on my mother. Once I'm sure she's up and about, I reach into my pack for my homework. My fingers graze an unfamiliar shape. What's this? Frowning, I pull out a small leather notebook. It's not mine. I've never seen it before. Written on the front cover in small, careful handwriting are two words: Peeta Mellark.

I must have accidentally taken it when we bumped into each other. Curious, I flip the page and examine the first drawing. A tree. Next is a line of rooftops. Then the school. I'm about to shut the notebook when a sketch catches my eye. I stare at it blankly. Maybe I'm mistaken. But, no, I'm sure. It's me. Sitting at my desk, pencil in hand but eyes on the window. Why is Peeta Mellark drawing _me_?

I turn the pages past drawings of a cat, the fence, someone who looks like he might be Peeta's brother. There I am again. In this drawing, my back is turned, but the braid gives me away. That, and the fact that Prim is standing next to me, holding my hand. I look up at the real Prim, who sits across from me, happily scribbling on her homework. Then I look back down at the drawing. It's remarkable how much it looks like her.

I know I shouldn't, but my curiosity gets the better of me. I look over the rest of the drawings, most of which are of places in District Twelve, or people I don't know. But I appear every few pages. In a tree, at the bakery's back door with a squirrel in my hand, in the school hallway, and even in the forest. I am certain that Peeta Mellark has never seen me in the forest. He must know I hunts, because I often trade with his father, but I can't even imagine Peeta venturing past the fence. So how did he capture the woods with such detail?

On the last marked page, about halfway through the notebook, is a partially-finished drawing of, predictably, me. I recognize the long-sleeved shirt with the hole in the elbow that I'm wearing at this very moment.

"That's very good," Prim comments, and I jump. She has appeared at my shoulder. "Who drew it?"

"Peeta Mellark," I answer quietly, still half in shock.

"The baker's son?"

I nod. Prim eases the notebook out of my hands and gives it a quick flip-through. She stops at yet another drawing of me, this time kneeling down to talk to her, and says, "How did you get it?"

"I bumped into him at school. I guess I must have picked this up along with my books," I answer.

Prim finally looks up and gives me a teasing smile. "He must really like you."

"Prim," I say in exasperation. "Of course he doesn't. He's from the town and I'm from the Seam, remember?" But, I'm remembering something else. Burnt bread.

Prim doesn't look convinced. "Oh. Well, okay." She goes back to her homework and I bury the notebook- sketchbook- in my pack again. I'll have to give it back to him tomorrow. Oh, God, how am I going to do that?


	2. Chapter 2

**~Peeta POV~**

Where the heck did I put it? It's been missing for about a day now. It's not in my locker, or in my room, or my backpack. Great. What if I lost it? My mother would go crazy if she found out I lost something as expensive as that sketchbook, especially since it's only half-full.

"Earth to Peeta," Ethan calls, waving a hand inches from my face.

"What?"

"You were zoned out."

The rest of my friends nod in agreement and repeat, "Zoned out."

"Sorry." I shake myself and ask, "So, anything new with you guys?"

"Not much," Ethan shrugs. "Just-"

Someone taps me on the shoulder. I turn to find myself staring into two large, gray eyes. That's twice in two days. I smile automatically. "Hi."

Katniss just flushes and shoves something at me. "Here. You dropped it when we… ran into each other."

It's my sketchbook. "Oh, thanks!" I exclaim. "I've been looking for that." I have the crazy urge to touch her hair, which looks soft and sun-warmed, so to keep my hands occupied I take the sketchbook.

Katniss looks uncomfortable. "Um, yeah. Sorry." With that she leaves, and I frown. I had hoped to be able to talk to her for a bit.

Most of my friends don't even seem to have noticed the exchange. I can't help but press my palms into the leather, thinking, _The last person who touched this was Katniss._

A paper falls from the notebook. I scoop it up from the ground and my eyes widen when I recognize Katniss's handwriting, as well as a loopy scrawl I don't know.

_Prim, would you mind if we walked home a few minutes late?_

The loopy handwriting answers, _Sure. Are you going to return the sketchbook?_

_Yes. Meet me under the apple tree, okay?_

I feel as if I'm eavesdropping on the sisters' conversation, but I read on.

Prim answers, _Okay. Are you going hunting today?_

Katniss's handwriting grows messy, as if she wrote in a hurry. _Prim! Do you know what would happen if anyone read that? We could get in trouble. Lots of trouble!_

_I'm sorry. But, are you? We haven't had meat since Monday._

My stomach twists in guilt as I think of the meal waiting for me back home. I'll get to go bake delicious desserts in the bakery, then eat a three-course dinner while Katniss's family goes hungry. I feel sick.

_Maybe. We'll see,_ Katniss answers, and I can almost hear the doubt in her voice.

_All right. See you after school._

That's all. _Meet me under the apple tree,_ I think. I make a split-second decision and, dropping the sketchbook into my pack and folding the note neatly to fit into my pocket, slip away from my friends and towards the front of the school.

Sure enough, there she is. Her braid swings back and forth as she walks, greeting her little sister warmly. Prim takes her hand and they start to walk away.

"Katniss!" I yell. "Wait up for a minute!"

I see Prim elbowing Katniss in the ribs, and Katniss quickly shushes her. I catch up with them after a few seconds and she just looks at me with her eyes slightly narrowed. Not sure what to think. Maybe even suspicious.

"I just wanted you to know…" I begin, trying not to reach into my pocket where the note is tucked away. "If you, or your family, ever need… any help with anything, just let me know, okay?"

Katniss tilts her head, considering my offer. Her eyes flit away in the direction of the fence, then lock onto her hands. "We don't need help. But thank you."

My heart sinks and Prim tugs on Katniss's sleeve. "Katniss?" Prim says plaintively.

Katniss glances at me before sinking to her knees, listening to Prim's whisper. Then she shakes her head and whispers something back. Prim just gives her a pleading look, and at last Katniss gives in.

"Fine," she says aloud, but I'm not sure what she's agreeing to.

Prim beams at me as Katniss stands up again, avoiding my gaze. "You work at the bakery."

"Yes," I answer, surprised. How did Prim know? Did Katniss tell her? "I frost the cakes."

Prim's eyes grow large. "The ones in the front window?"

I nod. Prim stares at me as if I'm some sort of saint.

"Prim always makes me take her to look at the cakes," Katniss says, smiling down at her sister. Then she seems to catch herself and, turning her expression impassive again, says, "We have to go. Our mother will worry. Or, at least she'll notice." I can't miss the bitterness in her voice. "Goodbye."

"Bye," I say, wondering what their whispered conversation was about.

As we go our separate ways, I start to get an idea. If my mother finds out, no telling what would happen. But, who cares? I grin and walk quickly towards the bakery. May as well get started.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N- This chapter's a little bit longer than the others. Don't worry- we're getting pretty close to the good part of the story- Peeta and Katniss becoming friends, and then more than friends. Enjoy!**

**~Katniss POV~**

I feel like I'm being watched. It's not exactly unusual- I mean, I am sitting in the middle of a classroom with twenty-odd other students and a hawk-eyed teacher- but I feel as if someone's staring at me. Three guesses who. I can see him out of the corner of my eye if I turn my head a bit. The sketchbook is in his hands, along with a pencil, and he's alternating between looking at the paper and me. He's probably finishing the drawing.

Usually I would get annoyed, but after his offer yesterday, how could I be? I figured out his reason for offering my family help when I couldn't find the note Prim and I had passed back and forth in the hallway. I must have left it in the sketchbook. And he probably read it.

If I'm mad at anyone, it's me. How could I have been so careless? Now Peeta Mellark knows for sure that I hunt illegally, _and_ has written proof. And instead of turning me in, he told me to let him know if my family needed help. Darn it, why is he so hard to be upset with? Why can't he be like the other people who live in the town- cool and aloof?

_Actually…_ I think to myself, _that sounds like me._ The thought would make me smile, if I was in the woods or with Prim. As it is, I just roll my eyes at myself and slide down in my chair. I see Peeta shut the notebook with my peripheral vision and think, _Finished already? Huh. That was fast._

I realize that everyone is looking at me. Including the teacher. "Miss Everdeen?" she asks.

Darn. "Yes?"

"Would you care to join the class? Because, if you'd like to daydream, you can do it just as well in the office."

Ouch. Usually the teachers don't pay much attention to me. I guess I was being too obvious about my disinterest.

"Sorry," I grumble. The class giggles. Madge shoots me a sympathetic look from across the room as I pull my paper towards me and start jotting down notes on the location of coal mines. I still don't know why they teach us this stuff. It doesn't have much to do with actually working in a coal mine, and nothing to do with feeding your family. And in District Twelve, that's all you need to know. That, and the rules of the Hunger Games.

But we won't need to worry about that for months. I shove it to the back of my mind and tune in on the teacher. What she's saying is more cheerful than what I'm thinking, which could be viewed as both a good thing and a bad thing. I decide that, for now, it's a good thing. Thinking about the Hunger Games will get me nowhere.

Something jabs me in the shoulder and the girl next to me surreptitiously holds out a piece of paper in my direction. A note from Prim? Her classroom is right across the hall, so sometimes she'll get someone to zip across and hand a note to the person nearest to the door. But today the door is closed. I frown and, making sure the teacher is focused on the board, unfold the note.

_Apple tree, after school? Something for Prim._

_-PM_

I glance at Peeta Mellark. He is determinedly looking away from me. _Something for Prim._ For Prim. I sigh. How did he know that was the only way to ensure I came? I dash off my reply and toss the note back to the girl next to me.

_Fine._

* * *

Prim and Peeta are already there, chatting away like old friends, by the time I get to the apple tree. I frown. I hate not knowing what's going on. But then Prim grins a big, cheesy grin and I just have to smile back. "Katniss!" she says, hugging me with her slim little arms.

I pat her hair down and wish that she wasn't so skinny. "Okay," I say, trying to sound annoyed and failing. "What's this?"

Peeta smiles and triumphantly holds up something I didn't notice before: a small plate, resting on which are two frosted cupcakes. On one is the picture of a primrose. On the other is a katniss blossom. I raise my eyes to Peeta's face, completely at a loss for words. He made cupcakes… for us? With our namesakes painted on them in frosting? Because I said that Prim always wanted to look at the cakes in the bakery?

"I…" How the heck am I supposed to respond to this? "I don't… I don't know what to say."

Peeta holds out the plate, which I take carefully, as if it might shatter if I so much as jostled it. "You could say 'thank you'," he suggests.

"Thank you."

"Thank you!" Prim echoes. She can't seem to tear her eyes away from her cupcake.

And I can't tear my eyes away from Peeta Mellark. Why did he do this? What were his reasons? Did he feel sorry for us? For me? Well, he shouldn't. I don't need anyone's pity.

Before I can decide whether to get mad or not, Peeta quietly says, "You don't have to look so shocked. It's just a cupcake, after all."

_Yes, just a cupcake. Two cupcakes. To share with my family. Just like two loaves of burnt bread. To share with my family. _

Finally I just say, "Thank you," again, and take Prim's hand as a signal that I need to leave.

"At least let me see you take the first bite," Peeta says.

I'm about to say no, but then I look into his blue eyes and a tiny smile twitches onto my lips. I check Prim's hands, making sure they're clean, and then hand hers over. She looks at it in awe for a few seconds, admiring the picture. She sniffs it. Then she sinks her teeth into it, making an appreciative "Mmm!" sound.

I chuckle and look down at the cupcake in my own hands. It's so pretty that I almost don't want to eat it. I look at Peeta, about to protest that I could never eat something he obviously worked so hard on.

"Oh, go on," he says. "I can always draw it on paper, if you want something that'll last."

It _does_ look good… and the smell of sugar, which I have tasted only a few times before in my life, wafts up to me.

"Take a bite!" Prim urges. "It's good!"

At this I take a small, cautious bite out of the side. It is good. Very sweet- sweeter than any berry I could ever find in the woods. I take a large chunk out of it, getting a dab of frosting on the tip of my nose. Peeta chuckles, and at first I think he's laughing at me. Anger flares up in me. I hate being laughed at. But then he reaches out and brushes the icing off my nose with his thumb. I recoil slightly, but his hand is already gone.

He points to his own nose and says, "Icing."

I hesitate, then let myself smile. I can forgive him for that. He wasn't laughing _at_ me.

"You get to bake these every day?" Prim asks incredulously as I draw my sleeve across my nose, making sure all of the leftover icing is wiped off.

"Not every day." Peeta shrugs. "Usually I just bake bread."

That's when I realize that we've been standing here for way too long. Everyone else has disappeared, gone back home. Not even a teacher is out and about.

"We really should go now." I tug on Prim's hand. "Come on. And, thanks again." _For making my little sister happy._ "See you later." _Whenever I happen to run into you again…_

"Bye," Peeta says, a little sadly, I think.

As we walk, we nibble on our cupcakes, trying to make them last as long as we can. Prim chirps happily about anything and everything, waving hello to everyone we pass. I think about Peeta Mellark. Dissecting his motives. Why in all of Panem did he make those cupcakes for us? If he thought we were starving, he would have made something bigger, more filling. If he wanted to show off his baking skills, why show off to us? If he was trying to get something from me, why not just tell me what he wanted after he gave us the cupcakes?

And then it hits me. There is no other explanation. Peeta Mellark baked me and my sister cupcakes- frosted them with our namesake flowers- simply because he was being kind. I smile. Since when have I smiled this many times in a single day? It must be because of him. He makes me smile. I'll have to return the favor.


	4. Chapter 4

**~Peeta POV~**

As I trudge home, I gauge Katniss's reaction in my mind. At first she just seemed shocked. Like no one had ever done something so nice for her. Then, for a moment, she looked angry. I have no idea what that was about. Then she went back to being surprised, but maybe a little pleased, too. But it's only her final reaction that I really care about. When she saw her little sister grinning through a mouthful of sugar, Katniss's normally closed-off face melted into a soft, genuine smile, and that smile stayed on her lips until she left.

So, I think I can safely say, _mission: accomplished._ I've never seen Katniss smile like that. It made me want to laugh and hug her at the same time. Prim is lucky, if that's the smile Katniss has reserved just for her.

As soon as I get through the door, I slip up the stairs and pull out my sketchbook. I just finished my last drawing today. The drawing of Katniss in a long-sleeved sweater with a hole in the elbow. In the drawing, her face is serious and thoughtful. I turn to a fresh page and begin to sketch. I will draw Katniss exactly as she looked when Prim bit into the cupcake. Amused. Surprised. Smiling that soft smile. Lovely.

I don't realize how much time has gone by until I gather up my colored pencils and glance at the clock. It's nearly dinnertime. Drawing Katniss took several attempts, since I've never drawn her with that expression before, and coloring took even longer. I had to experiment with layering colors on a separate paper to get the shades just right. The sun on her hair. The blush in her cheeks. Her gray eyes, tinged slightly blue from her blue shirt. In the end, the drawing turned out… perfect. I stare down at it for a while before a voice behind me makes me jump.

"The Everdeen girl."

I turn around to find my father smiling at me. "Yeah," I admit, closing the sketchbook.

He nods in approval. "I loved her mother, once."

"I know. You told me." _And later that day, I fell in love with the daughter of the woman my father loved. History really does repeat itself._

My father is silent for a few minutes, then says, "I've never seen her smile like that. In fact, I've never seen her smile, ever. And I've seen her enough. Trades with me most every morning."

This just reinforces my hunch that Katniss's special smile has been kept for Prim and only Prim. I was lucky today. I got to see it. But… maybe I'm being selfish, but _I_ want to be able to make her smile like that. I want to have her special smile all for myself. That just raises the question… will she ever be willing to give it to me?

**~Katniss POV~**

I sit up groggily. It's pitch black outside, and even darker inside due to the lack of starlight. Prim's small hands are shaking my shoulder.

"Katniss," she sniffs.

Immediately alert, I ask, "What's that matter?"

"Nightmare," she answers simply.

I pull her over to me and hug her tightly. She wraps her arms around my neck and buries her face in my shoulder, whimpering. "Do you want to talk about it?" I ask gently.

Prim just shakes her head. I can't see a thing, which is unusual. Usually, enough moonlight comes in the window that, with my hunter's eyes, I can just barely make out the shapes around me. Is tonight the new moon? I stroke Prim's hair until she calms down, then quietly slip out of bed, pulling her with me, and go to stand by the window. Sure enough, there is no sign of the moon, and the stars are partly masked by thin, ribbon-like clouds.

Prim tips her head back, and I assume she's staring at the sky. I imagine what we must look like- our pupils so large that they drown out the color, hair disheveled, nightgowns threadbare. I imagine what the scene out the window would look like. The next house would be a smudge, and the trees would be dark, rustling globs of leaves. I know what's out there, but it's still disconcerting not to be able to see anything.

What at last Prim goes back to bed and falls asleep, I shrug on my father's hunting jacket over my nightgown, pull on my boots and head outside. I'm not sure where I'm going, exactly, just that I want to be able to breathe the cool night air.

My feet carry me on a path that, fortunately, I could follow with my eyes closed. Out of the Seam and to the meadow. I automatically walk to the fence, but I know I shouldn't go into the forest at night. Even for me, it's dangerous. I stand there for a long time, staring unseeingly into the darkness, until the chill forces me to move. I back up cautiously, and my shoes have just hit the rough street when my instincts tell me to stop. There's someone coming towards me. I can hear them. But, apparently, they don't realize I'm there at all, because a half-second later I'm knocked to the ground and Peeta Mellark's voice is saying, "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you."

"Gee, I wonder why," I grumble, standing up stiffly.

There's a pause. Then he says, "Katniss? Is that you?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning: longish chapter ahead. I can't wait for you guys to read CH 6- I have a special treat in mind. You'll just have to wait and see to find out what it is! **

**As usual, read. Enjoy.**

**~Peeta POV~**

I've just finished wondering, for the thousandth time, where in Panem I am when I run head-first into something. No, someone. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't see you." How could I, when closing my eyes and keeping them open make no difference? What did I think this would accomplish, anyway- going out for a walk in the middle of the night? Now, no only am I lost, but I'm knocking over people.

A familiar voice gripes, "Gee, I wonder why." There's the scraping sound of boots against pavement, and I half-sense someone standing in front of me.

"Katniss?" I ask. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," Katniss says. "Hi, Peeta."

"Hi. What are you doing out here by yourself in the middle of the night?" For some reason, I feel angry. What does she think she's doing? It's dangerous being outside at night, _alone_, especially for a girl!

"Taking a walk," she answers, a little defensively. "What about you? What are _you_ doing here?"

I laugh, most of my anger forgotten. "Taking a walk. I got lost, and I've been wandering around for… I don't know, a few hours, maybe."

"You're on the edge of the meadow," Katniss says, and her voice sounds farther away, like she's taken a few steps back.

I cautiously wave a hand in front of me, searching for her, until my fingers bump into what feels like an arm. "There you are."

"Where did you think I was?" she asks, sounding amused. Her hand closes over mine and my heart starts jumping around in my chest.

"Well, if either of us moves out of hearing range, there's a good chance we won't find each other again. I was just making sure." I drop my hand, but Katniss's fingers stay resting against my wrist. It's not holding hands, really, but it's close. I'm suddenly almost glad for the lack of light, because I'm pretty sure that a huge, idiotic grin has spread over my face.

"Here," Katniss says, tugging me along behind her as she starts to walk. "Follow me."

I don't question where we're going. After a few minutes, Katniss stops and says, "Don't move."

Her fingers disappear from my wrist and I'm left standing there all alone when a door opens and closes somewhere in front of me. I feel like I'm underwater- like if I was to wave my hands around, swirls of darkness would rush this way and that, stirred up by the movement. At last the door opens again, and my eyes focus on the first light they've been exposed to for hours.

The candle looks impossibly, painfully bright, and I have to look away for a few seconds. Then I turn back to Katniss, who's closing the door quietly behind her. A jacket that's too big for her has been pulled over her nightgown and her hair falls down around her shoulders in a dark curtain. I've never seen her hair down before. I wonder if I'd be able to draw it.

She whispers, "Come on," and starts off.

It's not as easier to lose track of her now, because of the candle's light. We walk side by side, winding through narrow roads that I'm unfamiliar with. We're in the Seam. I can't help but to peer around, trying to imagine what life here is like, but stop when I catch Katniss staring at me with an odd look on her face.

"So…" I say, to diffuse the awkward feeling in the air. "I take it Prim liked her cupcake."

"Yes. They were… You must have worked hard on them," she answers slowly, as if carefully picking out each word as she goes. "You shouldn't have spent so much time on m- on us."

_Was she about to say 'me'?_ I wonder. _Why change it to 'us'? I made Prim a cupcake, too, but overall it was for Katniss…_ "Oh, it was nothing." I wave it away.

"No, Peeta," Katniss says with a sharp tone in her voice. "It wasn't nothing. Why did you do it?"

_Because I wanted you to be happy, _I think, but I'm not sure if I'm brave enough to say it out loud. I end up saying, "Just to be nice. You know. To thank you for finding my sketchbook." I look over at her and realize that, underneath the golden candlelight, she's blushing. I wonder if she saw my drawings. I don't mind if she did, but I'm not sure what she would think of them. A lot of them are of her.

We reach the place where the Seam ends and the town begins. Katniss stops suddenly, as if there's a glass wall separating the different parts of District 12. Separating the two very different worlds. She doesn't want to leave her world, even though she's returning me to mine. The candle is shoved into my hand, and hot wax scalds my fingers.

"Here," she says.

"What about you?" I don't want her walking home in the dark.

She produces a second candle from a pocket in the too-big jacket and uses mine to light it. "See you on Monday," she says, and just like that, she's walking away.

"Wait!" I call, flinching when I realize I may have just woken up half the town. But I don't particularly care, if I could just say what's been on the tip of my tongue for years. _Say it, say it,_ I tell myself. _Don't chicken out again._ "Do you want to do something tomorrow?"

Katniss turns around and asks, "Like what?"

"I don't know- take a walk, play a card game, study for the math test..." What _would_ we do? Katniss and I don't have many common interests, as far as I know.

She hesitates, and my stomach twists. Then, "All right. I'll meet you by the school."

_She said yes!_ My heart instantly takes up residence somewhere just above the clouds. "One o'clock?" I ask, trying hard not to laugh out loud.

"One o'clock," Katniss confirms, and then she's gone, the light from her candle bobbing down the street and back into the heart of the Seam.

I turn my feet towards home, walking as if there are springs attached to my shoes. I don't care if we're just studying. I don't care if she doesn't think of me in the same way I think about her. I have a date with Katniss Everdeen.


	6. Chapter 6

**Sorry this took a while longer to post!**

**In this, I wanted to show another side of Katniss, a more girly side. Not sure if that made it through. Let me know in the reviews, kay?**

**And I promise there will be actual fluff in the next chapter (for those of you who have been anxiously awaiting it). **

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

I glance out the window as I place the last plate into the cupboard. The sun tells me that I have about twenty minutes until my… thing… with Peeta. Just as I think this, Prim pops up at my shoulder and asks, "Where do you have to go?"

"How'd you know?" I ask, puzzled. I haven't said anything about it to my mother _or_ Prim.

"You keep checking the time."

I feel my cheeks heat up and hold the dishcloth to my face to cool them. After a few seconds I dry my hands and answer, "I'm going to study for a math test with Peeta Mellark."

"Oh," Prim says mischievously. "Study. I see."

"Prim!" I exclaim, half-laughing.

"What's this?" my mother asks from the doorway, and I give Prim a _look what you've done_ look.

"Katniss is going on a date," Prim says casually. I shoot her a halfhearted glare, not capable of really being angry at her.

My mother's eyes widen, and then I think she smiles. "Dressed like that?" she asks.

I look down at myself. My sleeves are damp from washing the dishes. My hair is pulled back carelessly in its usual braid. My boots are dusty. "Yeah," I answer, mystified. This is how I always look. Why change it?

My mother shakes her head and says, "At least let me help you get ready."

I narrow my eyes at her. I'm still reluctant to except any of her help. "Fine," I snap.

She smiles. "Go get changed, then."

"Into what?" Surely she's not going to make me wear a dress.

"Just normal clothes, but clean ones."

I sigh and do as she says. When I come back wearing a green shirt and worn leather pants, my mother steers me in front of the one mirror in our house and makes me sit down on a stool. She undoes, brushes, and re-braids my hair and fixes a belt around my waist. Then she cuts open a cherry and runs it across my lips. She even tries to get me to wear a necklace- a simple one made of silver, from when she lived in the town- but I draw the line at jewelry.

Once I'm finally allowed to stand up and look at my reflection, at first I don't notice much of a difference. What was the point of all that if I look the same? Not that I'm complaining, mind you.

Then I start to see the little changes. My braid doesn't hang straight down my back, but curls around one shoulder. The cherry juice has dyed my lips slightly red and the belt pulls in the shapeless shirt at the waist. I look like myself, but softer, not so harsh. More like a… girl.

"There," my mother says, admiring her work. "Are you sure you won't wear the necklace?"

"Yep."

Prim looks up at me with big eyes. "You look beautiful."

"Do I?" I glance at the mirror again. Maybe I shouldn't have agreed to this.

"That's a good thing," Prim giggles. She gives me a little push towards the door. "Go on."

I frown as I walk out and stride down the road towards the school. Whatever have I gotten myself into?

**~Peeta POV~**

I lean against the apple tree, hoping fervently that my little walk wasn't a dream. Then again, if it was a dream, I wouldn't have gotten lost. And I wouldn't have run face-first into the doorframe on the way into my house. My shoulder still hurts from that…

"Hey."

I turn quickly and smile. "Hey."

Katniss glances around, obviously not sure what to say. "So… studying?"

I shrug. "Or we could do something else."

"Like what?"

"Don't know. Come on, let's wander around. We can think while we walk."

She nods. "Okay." I watch her out of the corner of my eye as we start off in a random direction. Does she look… different than usual? I store away the image in the back of my mind so I can sketch it later.

"How's Prim?" I ask, because that's the first thing that comes to mind.

"She's fine." I see Katniss smile, but it isn't Prim's special smile. "She's, ah, been a bit _inquisitive_ lately."

I raise my eyebrows. "Don't tell me you're annoyed with her." Somehow, I can't imagine Katniss ever being mad at Prim. I mean, this is _Prim _we're talking about. Plus, I get the feeling that Katniss loves her little sister more than anything else in the world.

Katniss frowns. "Not exactly."

Her tone says that a change of subject is in order, so I wait a few seconds and then say, "What do you think about the new history teacher?"

"It doesn't really make much of a difference what teacher it is. They teach the same thing- the coasts getting covered by ocean, the war, Panem, the rebellion, the Capitol, the Hun… Well, you know. None of it is really useful."

"I think it's fascinating, imagining what life was like before Panem."

Katniss tips her head back and looks at a fast-approaching bank of dark clouds. "Sure, it's interesting, but it doesn't exactly help to get food on the table." She bites her lip as if she's said something she didn't mean to. "Um. I mean…"

"It's okay, I know what you meant," I say quickly. It doesn't help her keep her family fed. It doesn't help her to hunt, or trade. I think of the squirrels she trades with my family in return for bread. This, of course, leads me to think of that day in the rain, when I saw her behind the bakery. I wonder if she remembers that.

We walk in silence for a while, passing between houses and shops. The clouds overhead growl threateningly and I suggest that we go to the bakery, so we don't get caught in a storm.

I'm startled when I see that Katniss looks almost scared. "Your mother," she whispers. "Won't she…?"

I realize what she means and shake my head vigorously. "No. She's not even in town right now."

"You're sure?" Katniss asks, and her small voice makes me flinch. I hate my mother for making Katniss sound so scared.

"I'm sure," I say confidently. Just then, lightning crackles and a few drops start to pepper the ground. "Come on," I say, grabbing her hand instinctively. "We can make it if we run."

She surprises me by grinning and saying, "Race you."

"You're on."

She laughs and we take off. I'm not sure if we just naturally run at the same speed, or if we're doing it on purpose, but either way I'm happy. I can hardly believe that I'm holding hands with her.

We burst into the back door of the bakery in the nick of time. Thunder cracks and sheets of spring rain hiss down from the sky in icy bucketfuls. I slam the door shut behind us as Katniss pants, "Made it."

She looks around curiously, her eyes catching on the stairs in the corner that lead to the house part of the building. "What's up there?" she asks, pointing.

"That's where we live- above the bakery."

"Who's that I hear?" a loud voice calls from the front room and I groan. My brother. He comes bustling into the kitchen and catches sight of Katniss. "Hey!" he exclaims, immediately pulling her into what must be a bone-crushing hug. I can just see Katniss making a _help _expression at me through a gap in his arms. "You never told me you had a _girl_friend, Peet!"

I roll my eyes. "She's not my-" I stop, unsure of myself. Is she? _No,_ I decide. _She doesn't care about you like that, remember?_

Katniss has finally succeeded in wriggling out from Rye's embrace, and darts over to stand slightly behind me. "Nice to meet you," she says dryly.

That makes Rye laugh. "Nice to meet you too, cutie." He winks at me before returning to the front counter.

"Sorry about that," I whisper. "He's… Well, that's just him. I didn't know he would think you were my…"

She shakes her head quickly. "I don't mind." Then she turns away, but not before I see her blush.

"Come on," I say, grabbing two cups and filling them with water. "Let's go upstairs. Maybe we really can study, now that we can't really go outside."

She takes one of the cups and climbs upstairs without comment. I consider leading her into my room, but decide against it, and bring her into our family room instead. If it can even be called a family room. It's a tiny, cramped sliver of a place with chairs crowded around a fireplace and not much else.

Katniss makes her way to one of the chairs and curls up in it, occasionally sipping her water. I sit down next to her and cast about for something to say. At last, I blurt out, "Wonder how long it'll be raining."

Katniss shrugs. "Don't know. Why? Do we have a schedule?"

"No, no. Just wondering."

She swirls the water around in her cup and settles further down into the armchair, folding her legs up underneath her. "Good. Because I'm not in a hurry to go anywhere."

Before I can ponder what this means, my mother walks in.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ready for a long chapter? You better be, 'cause that's what's coming up! Thanks for all the reviews! As usual, let me know what you think.**

**Also, I have a question for y'all. What do you guys like to read? What chapter, so far, was your favorite? Just so that I know what to write to make you guys happy. :)**

**-Disclaimer: as much as I wish I did, I don't own The Hunger Games, and don't claim to do so in any of my chapters. However, I do currently own a totally awesome collectible Garfield mug. That is all.-**

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

I see Peeta's eyes widen and flick from me to something behind me and back again. Something's definitely wrong. Even without Peeta there to clue me in, my hunter's senses tell me that someone is standing behind my chair. I freeze. Could it be…? No, Peeta said she was out of town. He wouldn't say that unless he was sure. Would he?

"Peeta," a cold voice says, and I feel my heart start thumping away a thousand miles per hour. It isn't. It _can't_ be. "Why aren't you working?" It is.

"Um," Peeta says, glancing at me again. I wish he wouldn't. That will just let his mother know that someone's here, in the chair right in front of her. That _I'm _here. If he looks down one more time, she'll get suspicious.

"Um?" she snaps. "What do you mean by 'um'? And, may I ask, who were you talking to?"

Peeta just stares at her, trying to think of something to say. I start scoping out escape routes. Not the window- too far up. I could make it down the stairs and out the back door, I think, as long as his mother was looking in another direction. Maybe I could dodge into the front of the shop and buy something to appease her? Would that work? Or, I could-

Something cold closes painfully around one of my ears. I gasp as I'm jolted up, the mostly-empty cup clattering to the ground, and yanked over to stand on my tip-toes in front of the fireplace. "Ha!" Peeta's mother sneers. "I see you were hiding a little seam brat!"

She shakes my head, causing me to bite my lip to keep from making any sound. I won't let her hear how much this hurts. I won't give her that satisfaction. Peeta is giving me a horrified look that probably has to do with the fact that my feet are barely touching the floor anymore. His mother gives a grunt of disgust and drops me onto the carpet, where I crumple into a heap at her feet, rubbing my aching ear.

Now Peeta's mother is heading for him, screeching at the top of her lungs, but I don't really pay attention until I see her pick up a poker from the fireplace. In an instant, I'm on my feet and blocking her way.

"No," I say. "If you're going to hit anyone, hit me. I'm the one who doesn't belong here. I'll leave." I keep my gaze locked on her, making sure my face is clear of any emotions.

"Then leave!" she bellows, pointing to the door. I back away slowly, not taking my eyes off her until I have to turn around to descend the stairs. The moment my back is turned, I feel something strike my shoulder. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, but, to my satisfaction, no sound comes out.

But by the time I make it down the stairs and out the back door, my shoulder is throbbing. I walk faster and faster, swiping the rain out of my eyes, until I'm running. Through the houses, between the shops, past the Seam and straight into the meadow. I don't know how my shoulder would take being squeezed between the ground and the fence, so I just haul myself up into a tree with my good arm and lean against the trunk.

_Hurts, _I think vaguely, but when I look there's no blood. So, just a bruise. She couldn't have cracked the bone- not with something as lightweight as a poker. And even if she did, it will heal in time without any attention. There's nothing I can do about it but wait. And try to keep the tears from spilling over.

I'm not especially surprised when I hear someone calling my name. What surprises me is that a few seconds later, I see Peeta trying to climb a tree.

**~Peeta POV~**

I can see her braid, looking so much like a branch itself, hanging from the tree. And there's a shoe, dangling down from the branch she must be sitting on. If not for those two clues, I wouldn't even know she was there. I call, "Katniss?"

No answer, but I think I see her turn in my direction. Okay. So, if she won't come down, I'll have to come up. I grab a branch and hold on with a stubborn, determined grip, then lift myself up. It's a lot harder than Katniss makes it look, and the bark is cold and slippery. I glance her way and see two large, gray eyes trained on me. By the time I look down, she's already sitting on my branch. It's scary how quickly and quietly she climbs.

"I'm so, so sorry," I say, and it's true. If anything, it's a complete understatement. When I saw the poker flying through the air, I flinched, realizing one second too late that the blow wasn't intended for me. In that moment, I hated my mother, hated with all my soul her for hurting Katniss. I didn't even bother to listen to the end of her rant. I just stood up and walked out, following Katniss. I'll pay for it later, but right now I'm not worried about that.

Katniss avoids my gaze and whispers something inaudible.

"What?"

Suddenly, her stormy eyes flash in my direction like a bolt of lightning and she hisses, "You said she was gone! You said she wasn't even in town! I _trusted_ you!"

"I thought she was." Suddenly I understand why everyone is so intimidated by her. If looks could kill, Katniss would have my blood on her hands. "Really, truly, I had no idea she would be at home."

"Well, she was," Katniss snaps. "And now I won't be able to go hunting for weeks. I can't shoot with my shoulder like this. How am I supposed to get food now? How am I supposed to keep Prim fed? How, Peeta?" Her words are full of venom, but underneath it, I sense fear.

I almost shake my head at her. _Why ever would you worry about that? You know I offered to help your family if you needed it. It looks like you need it. Don't worry. I'll make sure Prim eats. I'll make sure _you_ eat. I'll take care of you._ This all goes through my head in a matter of half a second, but out loud, all I say is, "Don't you have a hunting partner?"

"Gale," she fills in, and a familiar pang of jealousy goes through me.

"Yeah, him. Won't he hunt for your family while you heal?"

She hesitates, then gives a small nod. Her feet swing back and forth through the air, reminding me of where we are: the lowest branch of a tree in the Meadow in a storm. Not exactly on my list of Places to Visit Before I Die, but where else can we go?

I press on. "So, you'll get some food from him. And you know you'll never be short on bread as long as I'm around." I inch my hand towards hers and give it a gentle squeeze before quickly pulling away. "You're not going to starve. And neither is Prim, or your mother."

She keeps her eyes on the ground as she considers my little speech. The silence stretches on for so long, punctuated only by rumbles of thunder, that I half-expect her to jump down and walk away, leaving me sitting in the tree all alone. But at last she speaks. "I'm… sorry," she mutters.

"Sorry?" I exclaim, flabbergasted. "Why the heck are you sorry? I'm the one who should be sorry! I just sat there while my own mother… while you…" Suddenly, the scene flashes through my mind again. My mother appearing behind Katniss's chair, Katniss being yanked up by one ear and then dropped to the floor, my mother picking up the poker, and then… And then Katniss planted herself between me and my mother. Told my mother to hit her instead of me. Why?

"Why?" I repeat out loud. "Why did you do that?"

Katniss sounds tired as she asks, "Do what?"

"Back there, you tried to protect me. You got between me and my mother and you said… you said she should hit you instead of me. Why would you do that?" I feel the frustration building up inside me. Doesn't she know that her being injured hurts me more than anything else could? Can't she tell?

I notice Katniss staring at me. Her eyes have lost all the harshness since last time I saw them. Now they look warm. Sad. Beautiful. "I couldn't let her hurt you because of me," she whispers. "Not again." She reaches out to brush her fingertips over the place where, I remember, my mother hit me when I burned the bread for Katniss. My heart flutters at the touch.

"You remember that?" is all I can say.

Katniss suddenly, unexpectedly gives me one of her rare smiles. Not for Prim, but for me. Just for a second, Prim's smile is mine. Or maybe it's a whole new smile, intended for me and me alone. I barely catch what she says next. "I remember everything about that day. And the next day, after school."

"You picked a dandelion," I remember.

"Yes. My little spot of hope in what I thought was a hopeless world." Her eyes glint, and I get the feeling that this statement means more than I know. Then she blushes. "Sorry. I should just keep my mouth shut from now on, so I don't say something like that again."

I shake my head. "No, don't be sorry. And don't keep your mouth shut. You can trust me not to tell any of your secrets," I say, only half-joking.

One of her hands shyly settles on top of mine. "I already trust you."

My heart soars. Katniss trusts me. Katniss chose to give her trust to _me_, of all people. It is the greatest gift I have ever received. I promise myself that I'll take good care of it. I will never, ever betray her. The thought is, well, unthinkable.

As a grin finds its way onto my face, Katniss tugs on my hand. "We need to get inside," she says quietly. "Before we both catch something."

"Where are we going?" I ask as we slide out of the tree.

Katniss sighs. "Only one place to go, I guess. Ready to meet my mother?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Before this chapter, I'd like to make a few shout-outs. Thanks so much to the wonderful Mellark'sHeart and hungergamesfan77, who have both reviewed almost every single chapter. It's so nice to know that my writing is appreciated!**

**If you guys have any requests, things you'd like to see happen, don't be afraid to let me know! I'll work them into the story if I can.**

**Also, one last thing. What was your favorite chapter so far? Just curious.**

* * *

**~Peeta POV~**

Katniss's mother is thin and frail-looking, with hair the color of hay pulled back into a messy bun. She seems a bit distant, as if she's talking to someone far away, and I get the feeling that Katniss doesn't quite trust her. Still, she's nice enough, and hands us both towels without any comment except to raise her eyebrows. While Katniss wrings the rainwater out of her hair, Prim makes us tea out of hot water and mint leaves and I try to look around at their house without being too obvious.

It's smaller than the bakery. A lot smaller. There are two beds, a table, a sink, a mirror and a few rickety-looking pieces of furniture. That's it. I keep searching for some little trinket, a picture drawn by young Prim or a glass bauble hanging in the window, but don't find one. In truth, it's a little depressing. No wonder Katniss regularly disappears into the woods. It's probably the only place she gets to see any beauty. Or, did her home used to be different? Was it Katniss herself that made it like this, stripping it of what she deemed unnecessary to their survival?

Although, there is something else about it. A kind of sturdiness. Like if the rest of District Twelve was to crumble, this one, tiny building would remain standing by sheer willpower. I decide that Katniss's house is a lot like her.

I notice Katniss staring at me over the rim of her mug. She quickly takes a sip to hide it, but it's too late.

"What?" I ask, but I know the answer.

"I know it's not fancy," she says. I can't decipher the tone of her voice. "But it's more than enough. We have everything we need."

A thought forms in the back of my mind, but I don't voice it quite yet. Prim goes out the door, saying something about making sure her goat isn't stuck in the rain, and Katniss's mother is nowhere to be seen. I decide to take the plunge. "You may have what you need, Katniss, but what about what you want?"

"What do you mean?" She frowns, as if she's genuinely confused.

"I mean, there must be something you want besides _this_."

I realize too late how that must have sounded. Her eyes flash again, matching the blue-ish forks of lightning outside. "This?" she says, and that one quiet word is more powerful than any scream. "_This_ is my home. _This_ is my family. This is my life, and you're saying it's not good enough?" Her voice is still quiet, deadly, but I can hear it start to shake.

"That's not what I meant!" I protest. "Katniss, you know I wouldn't- I would never- that's now what I meant!"

"Then what _did_ you mean?" She folds her arms in a way that suggests she's shutting out the entire world. Shutting out me. I have the sudden, ice-cold feeling that I'm starting to lose her, even though I never had her to begin with.

"I just meant that you should do more things for yourself. It wouldn't hurt anything to indulge every once in a while."

"Yeah, well, look who's talking, Townie. You've always had plenty. Of course you can afford to think of yourself. But I can't. The only thing that matters is to get by as best we can, and that's all there is to it."

Katniss's face starts to lose its mask as she speaks, and I catch a glimpse of the girl underneath the exoskeleton. She's frightened. Feeling inadequate, but ready to stand up for herself. This just endears her to me even more. I'm such a lovesick idiot.

She continues, "There's no hiding, and there's no running away, because if I don't do it no one will."

_Not if you let me take care of you. Why won't you let me take care of you?_ "Katniss…"

"Don't pity me," she snaps. Then she looks down, maybe to hide her eyes. "Don't pity me," she repeats, but this time, her words are soft and tenuous. "It just makes it harder."

I realize there's a tear about to drop down her cheek. I brush it away almost without thinking, and when Katniss doesn't pull back, I keep my hand there. "I don't pity you. Who could? You're too strong to be pitied." I pause. "Although… you are a little scary sometimes."

This coaxes a small smile out of her. "I am? Like when?"

"Like when you get angry. Your eyes do this thing where they catch the light and flash, like lightning."

"I get that look a lot."

We both spin around to see her mother leaning against the wall next to the door, fingers fumbling to undo the knot of her scarf. She shrugs. "I guess I deserve it, though."

Katniss is speechless. Her mother finally takes off the scarf and refills both out cups with mechanical movements. As Katniss reaches up to receive hers, her mother places a gentle hand on her shoulder. Katniss's eyes snap to a wide-open position and she makes a strangled sound.

Her mother draws back sharply. "What? What's the matter?"

I feel myself glowering again. "My mother," I explain shortly. "She…"

"Your mother?" Mrs. Everdeen says, filling her hands with herbal mixtures that Katniss shoves away. "You're the baker's son, aren't you?"

"Yes." _You're the woman my father loved. _

She gives an approving nod and at last convinces Katniss to hold a cold, wet cloth to her shoulder. The water seeps through the fabric of her jacket.

"Well, take care of her," Mrs. Everdeen says, her eyes drilling into mine. "Take _good_ care of my daughter."

"I will." It's possibly the truest thing I've ever said.

Then the scarf is back around her neck and she's gone, following Prim out into the rain.

Katniss is looking at me with a question in her eyes. "Will you?" she whispers. "Will you really?"

"What, take care of you?"

She nods and expressions fly across her face one after another. Hope. Confusion. Hurt. Helplessness. Anger. Grief. Remorse. I have never seen her display so much emotion. If you took every single smile or frown I've ever seen her wear, starting from when I first laid eyes on her to yesterday, all of them together wouldn't even hold a candle to what's going on in her eyes right now.

I hesitate. Then I hold out my arms, letting her know I'm here but not forcing anything on her. Fully expecting her to turn away and be back to normal in a few seconds. But she surprises me by sniffing and throwing herself into my arms. Her chair topples over at the sudden movement and I pull her onto my lap to keep her from falling. It occurs to me that this might turn into a rather awkward situation, but Katniss doesn't even seem to notice.

"Of course," I murmur. "Of course I'll take care of you." _Because you deserve it. Because you've taken care of your family, all by yourself. I wonder how long it's been since someone else has taken care of _you_. _

"Four years," she says quietly.

I blink. Did I say my thoughts aloud?

"It's been four years. Since my father… you know. After that I- I mean, we were on our own."

Maybe her arms around me are lending me some of her strength, making me brave, because I run a hand over her hair and answer, "Not anymore."

"Katniss?" someone whispers.

I look up to see Prim, looking small and scared on the threshold. Katniss lifts her head, and in an instant, she's on her feet, her arms pulling Prim to her, and her tears have vanished. She's rocking Prim back and forth, telling her not to worry, that everything's fine. She asks how the goat is. She makes Prim believe that she is all right.

In a way, I'm annoyed at Prim. If she hadn't come in, I would have been able to hold Kantiss for a while longer. But then, I think, maybe I'll get another chance sometime. I promise myself that it will be sometime soon.


	9. Chapter 9

**Sorry this took a while longer to post than usual! I kind of ran out of ideas. Don't worry, I've got plenty more ideas now, and Growing Together is moving full speed ahead! (Cue train sound-effects.) **

**As usual, read, enjoy, and let me know what you'd like to see in the next few chapters.**

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

I swing my legs, almost bored, as I watch the pack of wild dogs below me. They circle the tree I'm sitting in, making short-tempered growling sounds. I lean back and look up into the sky. They'll get bored and move on eventually. In the meantime, I have nothing to do. The clouds are bright white and puffy. I start to pick out shapes- a cat, a house, a flower. I watch a relatively round one as the wind stretches it out, giving it a curved tail. A shiver goes through me. Now it looks like a cornucopia.

I shake myself and look back down. Yep, the dogs are still there. I sigh and think, _Don't you have anything better to do? There have got to be some rabbits or something out there that are more worth your time than I am…_

The wild dogs don't respond. Then again, I would have been greatly disturbed if they had. I pluck a leaf off the tree and peel off strips until I'm left with a frail skeleton, which floats down to the ground when I let go of it. My mind wanders from leaves to wild dogs to wild turkeys to goats to Prim to Peeta. Peeta. I feel my cheeks flush at the thought. Yesterday, I completely broke down. I don't even remember why. I mean, I remember that my shoulder hurt- still does- and that my mother had called me out on giving her 'the look', and we had been talking about my father, and Peeta said he would take care of me. That's when I broke down. But I never break down, not even in my weakest moment. What was so different about yesterday?

Peeta was there. That's what was so different. Not only was he there, but he offered to take care of me, and it's the first time since my father died that anyone has said that. I was always the one to take care of everyone else, including my own mother. Well, except for Gale. In a sense, he takes care of me, but I take care of him, too. We watch each other's backs.

As if called into existence by my thoughts alone, a voice says, "Hey, Catnip."

I peer down. The wild dogs are gone, and in their place is a tall, dark-haired boy looking up at me with the same gray eyes that I have. I drop out of the tree and say, "Hey, Gale."

"Thought you had gone to sleep up there," he jokes.

I shift my bow onto my shoulder and say, "May as well have. Those wild dogs took a long time to lose interest. Anyway, where were you during all this?"

He gestures to a tree about ten yards away. "I climbed up about the same time you did."

Our boots barely make a sound as we walk towards our snares. Once we switch gears into hunting mode, we will be silent, but for now silence is not necessary.

My game bag scrapes across my shoulder and I wince. Gale, of course, picks up on this. "What's wrong with your shoulder?" he asks.

"Nothing." I don't know why I'm lying to Gale. He would surely sympathize with me, call the baker's wife any number of insulting names, hand me some plant to help with the bruise. But, for some reason, I don't want him to know the story behind the injury. Something tells me that he would not take well to the idea of me and Peeta spending a day together.

Gale is looking at me in a way that says, _I think you are lying_. After a few seconds he looks away and says bluntly, "Spit it out."

"The baker's wife hit me with a poker."

It takes me a couple minutes to realize that Gale stopped walking. I turn around just as he starts to speak.

"She hit you with a poker," he repeats in a monotone. His voice is quiet, but the look in his eyes says that he can barely control his anger.

"Yes."

"What happened?"

I quickly come up with another lie. _I went to trade some squirrels with the baker but his wife opened the door instead and came after me._ But what comes out of my mouth is, "She didn't like the fact that I was in her house."

"What the heck were you doing in her house?" Gale demands. "I thought you would have the common sense not to go there!"

That rubs me the wrong way. "I was visiting Peeta," I snap without thinking.

"Peeta Mellark?"

"Yes." I start walking again, forcing Gale to follow me.

"What were you doing with _him_?"

"Jesus, Gale, do I have to report everything I do to you? I can spend time with whoever I want!"

Gale throws his hands in the air and abruptly swings around to stalk off in another direction. "Oh, I give up!"

I smirk. That means I won the argument. I feel a momentary pang of regret for fighting with Gale, but I push it away. It's his fault, anyway.

I check the snares by myself and unceremoniously deposit half of them at our usual meeting place. Then I make my way out of the woods, gathering some wild onions as I go. Once at the Hob, I trade some of my rabbits to Greasy Sae, throwing in a few onions as well.

"Where's that handsome partner of yours?" She winks. "Left him behind in the dust, I see."

I roll my eyes and turn away. I don't need that kind of comment right now. Greasy Sae convinces me to take a bowl of soup, which I chug down before trading for a bar of soap and thread. My mother seems satisfied with the rabbit, soap and thread, but Prim eyes me as soon as I come in the door.

Finally, when I look up and see her still watching me from across the room, I ask, "What is it?"

Prim comes over to me and I smooth her hair. "Are you okay?" she asks plaintively.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

She looks up at me with reproachful eyes. "You never cry."

My stomach flips. Uh-oh. "Not very often, no…"

"But you did yesterday."

I just stand there and fidget. How am I supposed to answer that? At last I say, "Well, I just had a hard day yesterday. I'm better now, I promise."

Prim cracks a smile. "If you had such a hard day, why were you grinning the whole evening?"

I blink. I was grinning the whole evening? Sure, I was a little more cheerful than usual, but that was just to compensate for my breakdown in the afternoon. It had nothing to do with Peeta. Absolutely nothing. _Then why do you sound like you're trying to convince yourself?_ a sly voice in the back of my mind asks.

Prim continues quietly. "You know, it's okay to be vulnerable sometimes." She stands on tiptoe and gives me a kiss on the cheek, then walks away. I can't help but smile. My little sister. My gentle, kind little sister who is wise beyond her years. She's the only person who could say that to me without drawing out some sort of negative response.

A crash rouses me from my thoughts. My head snaps towards Prim, but she looks fine, if a bit confused. I lean over the sink to crane my neck out the window, searching for the source of the noise. Two trashcans are rolling noisily down the street, clanging together and rumbling. Someone, obviously the person who knocked over the trash cans, is sprinting towards our house and yelling their head off.

"Mrs. Everdeen!" they shout. "Mrs. Everdeen!"

My mother materializes at the door in an instant. "What is it?" she asks the head of blonde hair that skids to a stop at our doorstep.

Peeta.

"It's my brother, he burned himself pretty badly. We need your help," Peeta pants. He sounds frantic and his voice is hoarse, like he's been yelling since they crossed into the Seam.

Before I can even process what's going on, my mother is sweeping medical tools into a bag and herding me and Prim out the front door. I meet Peeta's eyes for an instant, and as we start half-jogging towards town, take his hand in mine.


	10. Chapter 10

**Two in one day! I must be really inspired. Or really bored. Probably both.**

**I am sooooo excited for you guys to read Ch 11. I have something special planned. In the meantime, enjoy Ch 11!**

**As always, let me know in the reviews if there's anything you especially like or don't like.**

* * *

**~Peeta POV~**

The feel of Katniss's hand in mine barely makes an impression on me. That's how I know how scared I really am. All I can see is the pot of boiling water tipping over, splashing all over Rye, the expression on his face as the scalding liquid burned his skin like acid. That alone wouldn't have been an emergency. What sent me sprinting to the Everdeen's door was his hand, which slammed straight into the fire as he flailed, trying to shake the water away.

I blink, trying to clear the image away, but it doesn't help. People are staring at us, and it's no wonder why. Two teenagers, one from the Seam and one obviously not, a little kid still holding a dish towel clamped in her hands and a thin woman with a bag of bandages and herbs tucked under her arm, speed-walking towards the center of town with grimaces frozen on our faces? We're probably the most interesting thing they've seen all day. Our emergency is their entertainment. It's a sickening parallel to the Games.

We burst into the bakery through the front door, startling several customers, and tumble into the back room one after the other. Rye is still sitting exactly where I left him, slumped over the table, the puddle of water steaming on the ground. Mrs. Everdeen goes straight to him and starts issuing orders to everyone else in the kitchen. Katniss looks sick.

Rye lifts his head and, to everyone's astonishment, grins. "Hey, Peet," he says dryly. Then he looks to Katniss. "Didn't get _your_ name, cutie, but I'll say 'hey' to you, too."

"Katniss," she says, and I imagine that if Rye wasn't so badly injured, she would have spat out the word like poison. I can almost hear her thinking, _Don't call me 'cutie'._

"Well, Katniss, cutie, however did you end up with my brother?" Rye winks as Mrs. Everdeen spreads some sort of salve on a burn on his arm.

I realize that my fingers are still entwined with Katniss's. She jerks her hand away and, instead of answering my brother's question, asks, "What should _I_ do, Mom?"

"Stay out of the way," is the terse answer.

Katniss folds her arms and narrows her eyes, but does as she is told. She claims the corner farthest from Rye and leans against the wall. I follow her.

"Sorry about Rye… again. He thinks he's being funny."

"Oh, I imagine it's pretty funny to someone who isn't me," she sighs. "That's how humor is. It's at someone's expense. Usually mine, if I'm around."

I'm slightly startled by the look in her eyes. Not angry or even sad, but hollow. She gazes out the window, as if she wants nothing more than to escape the room. Maybe she does. A shiver goes through her as Prim says something about skin layers.

"Oh, my…" Mrs. Everdeen murmurs.

I'm at Rye's side in an instant. "What? What is it?"

Mrs. Everdeen shakes her head, dismissing it. "Nothing you need to worry about. The burns are worse than I thought, but a lot better than a lot of the patients I see. Don't worry about him. He'll be fine."

Oh, yeah. The injured from mine accidents must go to Mrs. Everdeen. If anyone knows about burns, she does. But I don't relax. There's a crease between her eyes that wasn't there a few minutes ago. Something _is_ wrong.

"Prim?"

Prim looks up at her mother.

"Find the disinfectant wipes, would you?"

Prim rummages through the bag, then frowns and shakes her head. "We didn't pack any."

Mrs. Everdeen presses her lips together. Now I know for sure something is wrong.

Suddenly, she turns on Katniss. "Katniss, you're the fastest. Run home and get the wipes. As quickly as you can. Come straight back."

I don't want Katniss to leave. If I keep my eyes on her, I can almost ignore the small sounds of pain coming from Rye. I reach out to grab her wrist, to stop her from going, but she has already bolted out the door.

**~Katniss POV~**

I could weep from the relief to be out of that kitchen. Away from the burn victim. It's bad enough when it's my kitchen, with someone I don't know on the table, but standing in Peeta's kitchen with his brother nearly unrecognizable under all the scorched skin… I couldn't take it. Especially not with Peeta's blue eyes trained on me like he was waiting for something.

I relish the feeling of running, even though I know that by the time I get home and back, my lungs will burn and my legs will feel like they're made of stone. I keep my eyes on my feet, because I know the way, and, more importantly, because I don't want to meet anyone's gaze. The only drawback to this is that I run straight into the same two trashcans that gave Peeta trouble. My high-strung, slightly oxygen-deprived brain chooses this moment to send me into a fit of giggles. I must look insane, laughing like a madman and hopping down the street on one foot, having bruised the other when I ran into the trash can.

I stumble into my house, noticing that we left the door wide open in our rush to leave, and retrieve the wipes my mother requested. My shoe catches on a chair leg and I jolt forwards, but something catches me.

"Careful, Catnip."

"Gale," I snap. "I really don't have time right now."

I'm already out the door again, hugging the box of wipes, when something yanks me back.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. What's going on? I came to apologize and I see you dashing down the road, giggling, with two trash cans rolling along behind you. Now you're running off somewhere with…" He looks at the box in my arms. "Disinfectant wipes?" Understanding dawns on his face. "You're mother's treating someone."

"Yes, now let me go so I can bring these to her."

"I'm coming with you."

_What? Why? Why are you suddenly so interested in keeping me in sight?_ "No."

"Yes."

"Gale! This is serious!" I wriggle out of his grasp and take off again. I can hear his footsteps behind me. What's he up to?

Just as I predicted, by the time I get back to the bakery, I never want to run again. I'm built for short sprints, not running twice from one end of the district to the other. I brush past another tall, blonde boy on my way in- probably another one of Peeta's brothers- and grumble, "Do me a favor and keep _him_," I jerk a thumb behind me, "out of the kitchen."

I slam the box down on the counter and retreat into the corner, this time facing the wall. I press my forehead into the cool bricks and take several deep breaths in a row. I feel a tap on my shoulder and say, "Give me two seconds, would you?"

"No."

I turn around. "Gale," I groan. "What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk," he insists. I can see Peeta stiffen over Gales' shoulder.

"Yeah, well, we can talk later," I growl.

Rye says something halfway between "Ow," and a very filthy swear word. I wince.

I glare at Gale. "Look, this is bad enough without you."

He flinches and I realize how that must have sounded, but I'm too angry to care. His eyebrows sink lower and lower until I'm not sure how his expression is physically possible. Then his fist closes around my arm with alarming strength. "Come on."

He practically drags me out the back door, then deposits me by the very tree I sat by when Peeta threw me the burnt bread, when I was younger. Before I met Gale. I almost wish I was in that situation again as he stares at me with steely eyes.

"What?" I snarl.

"I came to apologize for yelling at you earlier," he begins. "And I find you all cozy in the Mellark's kitchen, putting yourself in danger, _again._"

"I haven't even seen Mrs. Mellark in the whole time I've been here," I answer icily. "Anyway, why are you so worked up about it?"

"Because I don't want you to get hurt, that's why." I blink. Oh. Well. I suppose that's… acceptable. I'm on the verge of forgiving him when Gale continues. "And I don't want you anywhere near this bakery or this family from now on. I'll trade with the baker."

"You don't get to tell me what to do!" I shout. "I'm not some pet you can order around! I'll make my own decisions!"

My mother leans out the window and hisses, "Be quiet, Katniss. You're going to upset the patient."

I almost make a rude gesture at her, but I don't. It's not her fault. Instead, I look to Gale and wait for his reply.

At last he says, "Let's go, Katniss. We're not needed here."

I can see Peeta through the open door. I'm not sure, but I think he may be watching us. He's hovering over his brother.

"Maybe you're not. But I am. Go home, Gale." I start up the back steps, but at the last minute I can't help but to turn around and add, "Go back to the Seam. I'm staying right here." And I go to stand by Peeta's side.

This time, I know exactly what was implied. It was intentional. Telling Gale to go home. Staying here. I chose staying over going. Merchant over Seam. Baker over hunter.


	11. Chapter 11

**So, do you guys like these long chapters, or should I stick with short ones? Just wondering...**

**Hold on to your hats, because things are about to get fluffy. (Did that make any sense whatsoever...?)**

* * *

**~Peeta POV~**

I can't do this. I can't stay in this room for one more second. Now I know how Katniss must have felt when she practically ran out of the kitchen. I am being crushed by invisible walls. I can't breathe.

Somehow, I end up outside the bakery, storming past the tree in our backyard and continuing on blindly.

"I said _if!_" Mrs. Everdeen yells after me. "That doesn't mean it'll happen!"

"Yeah, _if_," I mutter. "_If_ the infection spreads, he'll lose his hand. _If_ it doesn't, he'll always be scarred. _If_, by some miracle, neither of those things happen, it'll take long enough to heal that we'll have one less hand helping at the bakery for weeks."

I don't know why this bothers me so much. It isn't like me. Maybe it's because I could always depend on Rye for advice, even when he was being a bit of a tool. I've always looked up to him and tried to model my life after his. Him and my father. Seeing him hurt is worse than being hurt myself. That, combined with the tenseness in Katniss's muscles as she stood beside me, obviously struggling to keep her face empty, upset me more than I'd like to admit. She didn't want to be there; that much was obvious.

I think she stayed for me. I feel inadequate. How could I ever deserve her?

I'm so lost in my thoughts that I don't even realize she's there until I've walked halfway around District Twelve. Then I glance to the side and jump. "Jeez, Katniss, how long have you been there?" I ask loudly.

"I caught up with you a block away from the bakery." She shrugs. "I thought you knew I was there."

I shake my head. "No, you snuck up on me. I guess it's all those years of hunting, huh? Gives you quiet footsteps."

I nudge her with an elbow and she pushes my arms away, looking furious. I wonder briefly what I did wrong before she hisses, "Shut up! If anyone hears you, I'll be arrested and put in jail for the rest of my life, or worse, and who would feed my family then?"

"Me," I say without hesitation.

Katniss considers this, her head tilted. Her eyes still have that steely look that means she's angry. At last she snaps, "I still don't want you to say it out loud. The peacekeepers put up with it, but only because they don't think it's common knowledge. If we go around talking about it, like we're taunting them, they won't be so lenient."

I blink down at her. Sometimes, I forget that she's from the seam. I forget about the wall that divides our worlds- the wall she would not cross on the night of the new moon. My brain tells me that she's just a girl from across the street, one that faces hardships, but nothing more than what everyone else goes through. Except for her dark hair and grey eyes, she could fit in very well with the merchant people. She's proved that much spending time with my family. But she's not a merchant. She's no- what did she call me while we were sitting at the table in her house? – she's no Townie. She's tougher, more stubborn, less trusting. She sees all the strings attached to everything.

I realize that I haven't responded. In fact, I've almost forgotten what her last comment was. So I nod and hum, "Mmm-hmmm."

I think I can see her roll her eyes, but her braid is messy from running, and a ribbon of hair hides her face from me. I reach out and tuck the rogue lock behind her ear. Her cheeks flush and she looks away. I find myself smiling. Why the heck am I smiling? Rye's hand is permanently damaged! I shouldn't be smiling. It's like I don't even care about him. But I do. He's my big brother, isn't he?

"Peeta?" Katniss's voice is so soft, I'm not even sure it was her that spoke. I've never heard her sound so gentle. She's waiting for an answer, though, so I assume it was her.

When I don't say anything, she tugs on my sleeve, guiding me over to a slab of roughly-cut rock. I realize we're near the mine entrance. The miners won't change shifts for hours, so it's completely deserted.

Katniss leans over until her face slides into my range of vision. "Are you okay?"

I shake my head. "Rye," I answer simply.

Katniss sighs. "I know it looks bad. But, trust me, I've seen a lot of injuries." She swallows, like she feels sick, but keeps going. "My mother treats people that… Well, if it was up to me, I would just put them out of their misery. Sometimes that's what we end up doing. But Rye? Really, he's lucky. That'll heal in a few weeks, he'll have some minor scars, and you'll go on with your life."

"But your mother said that if-"

She cuts me off with a wave of the hand. "My mother says a lot of things. And the chance of that is extremely slim. I've only seen it happen to a burn three times, and I've seen more burn victims than I'd care to admit."

I must still look unconvinced, because the next thing I know, Katniss is rolling up a sleeve.

"What are you doing?"

She holds her arm out in front of me and jabs a finger at a large, spider-webbing circle of scar tissue that spreads from the inside of her elbow to the back of her forearm. "See that? That's from falling out of a tree and landing on a sharp rock."

I wince. It sounds incredibly painful. The the tips of my fingers graze the scar as I ask, "Why show me?"

"Because sometimes scars are good things. Even getting hurt can be a good thing. I've never tried to put my weight on a split branch since." She pushes her sleeve down and tries to pull her arm back, but on an impulse I take her hand and hold it between both of mine. It's calloused and covered in small scars, but I can't help but think that this is what silk must feel like. Soft and warm.

"So, you… think… you really think he'll… be okay?" I ask haltingly.

She gives me a playful little shove and says, "Hey, Prim's taking care of him, right? No way he can be anything _but_ okay."

"I'm serious."

"So am I." I feel her fingers twine between mine. "I know it's pretty much impossible, but try not to worry, okay? Worrying won't help him. In fact, he'd probably feel worse if he knew he made you worry."

I look at her curiously. "How do you know all this?"

"Once again, you're forgetting what my mother does. Usually I, ah, make myself scarce, but when I stay, I hear the families talk. It's… amazing, what you can learn by watching and listening." That haunted, hollow look has come into her eyes. "My mother and Prim, they're the healers in my family. I can't heal anything, so I usually end up trying to disappear into a corner and just observing everything. That's how I know."

I think. After a few minutes, I say, "You're wrong."

She scowls. "No, I'm not. About what?"

This makes me smile again. "About not being able to heal anything."

"What do you mean?" She's getting annoyed, but this just makes me smile more widely. She's cute when she's annoyed. Full-out anger is scary, coming from her, but when she's annoyed, her lips do this thing where they quirk to the side ever so slightly.

"Well, you just healed me, didn't you?" And she has. I can smile without regret now.

Katniss rewards me with her special smile. I suddenly realize how close we are. If I just leaned forward a few inches… I quickly try to push the thought from my mind, before it shows on my face, but I can't stop staring at her lips. I don't care what anyone says- those lips are perfect. My eyes flick up, and see with a jolt that Katniss's silvery eyes are closer to my own blue ones than I thought. I can count every one of her eyelashes.

My first thought when our lips meet is, _This can't possibly be real. _My second thought: _But I hope it is._

**~Katniss POV~**

Peeta smiles. "Well, you just healed me, didn't you?"

I smile back almost automatically. He seems almost back to normal, and I hated seeing him hurt. I've been staring at our intertwined hands for the last few minutes, and I decide to be brave and look up. His eyes are exceptionally blue, like the sky in the time right between afternoon and evening on a hot summer day. He leans forward and I have to remind myself not to pull back. This is Peeta. I trust him.

My eyes close, and in the half-second that follows, I feel defenseless. I hate having one of my hunters' senses taken from me. But then I feel Peeta's lips brush against mine, and I stop worrying. I stop thinking altogether.

I'm vaguely aware of Peeta's hands pulling mine towards him so I have to lean forward. Okay. This isn't so bad. Not as stupid as I thought it would be when I heard the girls at school giggling about it. Not as nerve-wracking as Madge described it. Just… sweet.

"Awww!"

I jerk away when I hear the voice, falling off the rock we were sitting on and cursing under my breath. A girl I've seen at school, with light hair and round features, is standing on the road just a few yards away.

"Delly," Peeta groans.

"That is so _cute!_" the girl apparently named Delly coos, clasping her hands beside her face. I glare at her, debating whether it would be more effective to stride away with my nose in the air or have a good, long screaming match. I've just about decided on the former when Peeta offers me a hand. I take it grudgingly and he pulls me to my feet. His face, ears and neck are all red, and I imagine I look the same.

"Have a good day, Delly," Peeta says firmly, clearly dismissing her.

We both turn our feet towards the meadow without saying anything more and start walking. I want to melt into the pavement at my feet.

"Sorry," Peeta says. He opens his mouth, like he's about to say more, but then just shakes his head and repeats, "Sorry."

I huff. "Not your fault."

Our feet crunch over the dry stalks of last year's grass as we enter the meadow. "Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"Will you take me into the woods?"

I look at Peeta. Did I mishear? Did Peeta- a Townie! – just ask me to take him into the woods? What has happened to the world as I know it?

"Uh… um… I mean- um- okay," I stutter. How in all of Panem is this going to work out?


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks for reading, y'all! You guys are all awesome. :) And thanks for all the reviews- they are much appreciated. **

**As usual, any requests for things you'd like to happen, just post them in a review. **

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

I can't help but flinch every time Peeta puts his feet down. Thank goodness I'm not actually hunting. My bow is strung and rests over the uninjured shoulder, and my quiver bumps against it with each step, but that's mainly as a precaution. In case we run into something hostile.

"So," Peeta says after a while. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know. Where do you want to go?"

He thinks about this. "Take me wherever you like being most."

I smile easily. Huh. Maybe Gale's right, and I do smile more often in the forest. "Where I like being most…" _Where's that?_ I wonder. The rock overlooking the valley? No, that's me and Gale's place. It wouldn't feel right to bring Peeta there. The grove thick with wild strawberries? It's not the right time of year. The little stream that looks like liquid silver on a cloudy day? Too full of mosquitoes.

At last I decided where to go. I turn and grin mischievously. "Ready for a bit of a hike?"

Peeta raises one eyebrow. "How long is this… hike?"

"Oh, come on, Townie, some walking won't kill you."

His face suddenly becomes serious. "Don't call me that," he says harshly.

"I'm sorry," I mumble. _Idiot,_ I think. _Why'd you have to go and say that? And just when… when…_ I can't bring myself to fill in the rest of the sentence.

"It's okay," he says, and this time his voice is softer. "I just don't want there to be any kind of wall between us. I don't want us to be separated into categories. Town and Seam. Okay?"

"Okay," I agree, but I know it'll take a while for me to stop thinking in terms of Town and Seam. It's the way I've been thinking my whole life, the way my family taught me to think. It's safer thinking like this. It keeps you grounded, keeps you knowing exactly where you stand. Town verses Seam. Rich verses poor. Light hair verses dark hair. Shops verses Hob. I've always known right where I belonged- on the Seam side of the wall Peeta talked about.

But then, a completely foreign, unbidden thought enters my head. If I was to marry Peeta, when I was older, I would become a Townie. I would probably live in the bakery, if one of Peeta's brothers didn't get it. I would bake instead of hunt, sleep on a fluffy bed instead of a hard cot-like thing. My life would be much different.

Then, another uninvited thought breaks through. If I had children, they would learn to bake. And, maybe, to hunt. Not for survival, since we'd always have enough to eat- one of the perks of working at a bakery- but just in case. They would still need to be able to defend themselves, especially if they were reaped. But, what would the chances of that be, if they were from the town?

It's like I've been punched in the stomach. What am I _thinking_? Am I actually imagining a life with Peeta? With children? I've never, _never_ planned on getting married, let alone having children. And where did the thought of living in the town come from? Sure, it would be easier, more comfortable, but I don't want that. I don't want to be coddled. Do I? No. I most certainly do not. All of the sudden, my cheeks start to burn from shame. Just the other day I lashed out at Peeta because I thought he was comparing my home against his, and now here I am, basically thinking about how much better it would be if my life was different. I feel sick.

"Katniss?"

I look up and realize we've been walking in complete silence for the past five minutes. I can see the spot we're headed for just up a particularly steep hill.

"Almost there," I say, avoiding the question I'm sure I'll be asked if I meet Peeta's eyes.

We struggle up the hill, and I'm glad I didn't decide to take Peeta to the lake. If he can barely make it three miles to get here, I'd hate to see what ten miles across rocky terrain would do to him. Then again, I'm not sure I'm ready to show anyone the lake, even Peeta.

At last we drag ourselves over the top of the hill. I lower myself onto the delicate, bright-green grass that's just started growing and Peeta collapses next to me. Once he's gotten done panting, he looks up and his eyes go wide. I chuckle. That was my reaction when I first saw it, too.

Spread out below us is a stretch of steep hills, none as tall as this one, cresting over like green waves. Aspen trees mingle with darker, sturdier branches, creating a patchwork of light green and green so dark it's almost black. There's a winding path of empty space where a creek burbles its way through the forest, and on the other side of the creek is a meadow decked out in its early spring colors. The whole thing is framed by a cascading shower of peach blossoms from a nearby tree.

Peeta doesn't say anything for a long time. At last he takes out his sketchbook and wordlessly opens it to a fresh page. I lean forward to watch him draw, and almost instantly my eyes are drawn to the opposite page. I'm not surprised when I see that it's a drawing of me, but it's not like any of the other drawings. In the picture, I'm smiling. The smile that everyone says I only give to Prim. It's a colored drawing, and, I have to admit, surprisingly detailed. For some reason, it makes me happy. I scold myself for being such a… a… girl.

Peeta doesn't even mention the drawing. He's already buried in the new sketch. I tuck my feet up underneath me and pull me bow over my head, laying it on the ground next to me. I spend the next half hour watching Peeta draw. We're so quiet, making no more noise than the pencil scratching against paper, that a rabbit hops by mere yards from us. I briefly consider shooting it, but decide not to.

I find myself yawning and leaning more and more against Peeta's shoulder. It's just so calming, being here in the woods, with the first warm sunlight of the year lighting up every blade of fresh, new grass. More than once, I jerk my head up, wondering wildly where I am for a few seconds before I remember.

At last Peeta finishes. He shows me the finished product, and I scoot around to see it. It's like looking through a black-and-white window. "That's amazing," I breathe. "How do you do that?"

"Well, sometimes it turns out well, and sometimes not. This one turned out well. It usually depends on whether I know what something feels like. You know?"

I shake my head no.

"It's easy to sketch, say, the school, because I know exactly what it feels like to be there. How it smells and what it looks like at different times of the day. But, if I tried to sketch something I'd only seen once, it wouldn't turn out as good because I wouldn't have a good feel for it."

I cast him a sharp glance, unsure if he meant what I thought I heard. "So… all those sketches of me…?"

I think he blushes, but with the light from impending sunset, I'm not sure. "Guesswork, mostly. But I think if I was to sketch you now, it would be… you know… better. More detailed."

I look down, not sure whether to be annoyed or not. I decide not. "Um, speaking of…" I trail off. Where was I even going with that sentence? Why can't I be like Madge, who always seems to know what to do in her stories of situations like this? "Right before we, ah, ran into Delly…"

"It's probably more accurate to say she ran into us," Peeta grins. At least he can joke about it.

"Yeah." _You know what, forget it. This is harder than it should be… _I unconsciously reach up and start to fiddle with my braid, only to find that there's already a hand sliding down my hair. Peeta moves my braid to the opposite shoulder, and then, ever so gently, pulls me closer. The woods and the fact that no one can sneak up on us this time convince me to close my eyes. And this time, there's nothing to interrupt our kiss.

That is, until I pull away and open my eyes. That's when I see the tall, dark-haired boy standing with his arms crossed on the edge of the forest.


	13. Chapter 13

**So, if you guys like this, you should check out another fanfic I have called See You. It's only a chapter long right now, but if people like it, I'll continue it.**

**As usual, enjoy.**

* * *

**~Peeta POV~**

Katniss leans back far too soon for my taste, and for a split second, I see her without any defenses. The late light catches in her eyelashes and spills over her features. Her lips are still slightly parted, and I think she's smiling the tiniest bit. This is the Katniss I truly want. The Katniss with her guard down, who can smile and relax in the sunlight and trust me enough to nearly fall asleep leaning on my shoulder. I love every side of Katniss, but this softer, more vulnerable side is exactly what I want to see.

Then her eyes open and instantly her guard is back up. She's watching something over my shoulder, and when I turn, I jump.

"Gale," I say, surprised. _How long has he been standing there?_ I wonder uncomfortably.

Katniss is on her feet, lifting up her bow and quiver. For a moment, I think she's going to shoot Gale, but she just stuffs her bow over her shoulder and snatches up my sketchbook from the ground. The last thing she grabs is my hand, pulling me upright with a strength that a girl as short and skinny as her shouldn't possess. Then she just stands there with her hands planted on her hips, looking remarkably like some sort of bird of prey or large cat. I'm surprised Gale isn't melting under the heat of her gaze.

"It would be nice," she says, and her voice shakes from anger, "To go _one hour_ without someone interrupting us!"

Gale doesn't even say anything. He just walks smoothly forwards and knots his fingers in Katniss's sleeve, practically dragging her along behind him. "Come on, Katniss."

"I'm not going anywhere," she replies stubbornly.

This scene feels familiar. I realize that this is what happened in my kitchen, just a while ago. I wasn't paying much attention, because I was busy worrying about Rye, but I could hear shouting. I was prepared to knock Gale out if he so much as laid a hand on Katniss, but at last she came in and Gale left. But now he's back.

Gale yanks on Katniss's arm again and says, quite clearly and loudly, "No. We're leaving. You can't spend time with people like him."

"People like him?" she repeats, ripping her arm out of his grasp with a violent twist. "You mean, nice people? Kind people? People who are capable of thinking about more than just themselves? I'm sorry, but I don't see what the problem is." Her words are so dripping with sarcasm that she doesn't even bother to roll her eyes.

I feel so awkward and stupid, just standing there while they shoot verbal bullets at each other. _It's completely unfair,_ I think in a burst of uncharacteristic self-pity. _Gale is the one who should feel like the third wheel._

"No," Gale answers. "I mean, people like him as in Merchant people. Townies. They don't know what it's like to be Seam, Katniss. They only care about themselves. They just sit back and enjoy their perfect mansions while we worry about what we'll be eating for our next meal! Or if we'll eat at all! Don't you see, they're not like us!" Gale is yelling now, jabbing a finger behind him, towards District Twelve. "You start hanging out with them and just see how long it takes before a Peacekeeper drags you into the square to be shot for illegal hunting! _He'll turn you in!_"

Katniss is so pale that it's easy to imagine the watery sunlight shining straight through her. Her eyes, in contrast, are black. She looks frightening. And beautiful.

Katniss says something then, but it's so quiet that I can't hear it. I watch Gale's expression simmer down from anger to something more controlled. He looks thoughtful for a moment. He starts to turn, as if he's going to melt back into the forest, and I take a step forward to put a hand on Katniss's shoulder. She flinches, drawing in a sharp breath, and I pull back when I realize it's the shoulder she hurt.

"Don't you touch her," Gale growls, his head snapping back toward us. And then I'm being shoved backwards, stumbling and almost falling to the ground. "This is your fault!" Gale proclaims, pointing to Katniss's shoulder. "She was with you when this happened! _You_ hurt her!"

The last sentence is what presses red-hot anger up my throat. "I would never hurt her," I say, and it's scary how calm I sound. I wonder if I'm like Katniss in that way- Katniss, who is only really frightening when her anger is quiet. Quiet, but powerful.

"Yeah?" Gale laughs. "It's a bit too late for that. Touch her again and I swear I'll kill you." With that he's gone, disappearing faster than I thought possible.

"I'm sorry," I say, slowly approaching Katniss. "I forgot. About your shoulder. I'm really sorry."

Gale's right. I hurt her. I could have stopped my mother, but I didn't, and now Katniss is injured. My strong, lovely Katniss. But what right do I have to call her mine, anyway?

"It's not your fault."

But it is.

"Peeta, look at me."

I look up, and I'm startled when I see Katniss no more than a foot from me. She curls her fingers around my wrist and pulls my hand up to her shoulder. I try to hold my hand back, but she won't let me. She sets my fingers down on her bruised skin and then lets go. Against my better judgment, I leave my hand there, being careful not to press down at all.

Katniss says, almost in a whisper, "I trust you, remember?"

"What about Gale? You heard what he said."

Her expression darkens. "Gale can say whatever he likes. Doesn't mean we have to do what he says."

I don't know what to say to this, so I just motion to the sun and say, "It's almost evening. We should go back."

Katniss sighs. "Okay," she says quietly. She sounds disappointed.

As we walk back, I run my thumb along the binding of my sketchbook, thinking. I can hear Katniss whispering to herself. I try nonchalantly to walk a little closer behind her, to hear what she's saying.

"Seam. Town. Miners. Merchants," she whispers, like a chant. "Seam. Town. Miners. Merchants. Walls. Barriers. Bread."

I don't have to think about that too hard to know what she means. And I'm not sure I like it.


	14. Chapter 14

**I'm sorry this took so long! I promise I'll try to update more regularly for now on. I just got interested in one of my other stories, See You. If you have time, you should check it out.**

**I'm kind of running out of ideas, so if you guys have any suggestions to what should happen, feel free to let me know!**

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

"Katniss."

I don't bother turning towards the voice. "Gale."

He sits down next to me on the rock, setting his bow on the ground by our feet. "Look, I'm sorry."

"Yeah?" I snap. I'm not in the mood for an apology, or another lecture. I just want to go hunting, lose myself in the quiet of the forest, and not have to worry about anything except tracks and snares.

"I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to upset you." His voice softens. "I'm just trying to protect you, Catnip. I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

I wait for the inevitable _but_. There isn't one.

At last I give in and look at him. His gray eyes are serious and unblinking. "Forgive me?"

I let him wait for a few extra seconds before giving in. "I forgive you."

Slowly, he holds up an apple, a smile just barely tugging at the corners of his mouth. I swipe it out of his hand and take a big bite to hide my grin. I'm still angry with him. But it's nice to be on speaking terms with my best friend again.

We gather and fish, and by the time we have to head to the Hob, we have enough to trade for more than enough to get by for another week. It's been a few days since I took Peeta into the woods, and since then, we haven't run into each other. Literally or figuratively. Which is why, when we approach Greasy Sae's stall, I have to do a double take when I see a head of blonde hair. People are staring as the boy converses with Sae, and I don't blame them. Seeing someone with fair hair in the Hob is like seeing a Capital citizen strutting around in the forest. It just doesn't happen.

But, as we arrive at the counter, I see that it's not Peeta. It's Rye.

"Why, _hey_ there,Kitty Kat!" he greets me enthusiastically, pouncing on me like a large, blonde cat and crushing me in another embarrassing hug. I stand awkwardly, my game bag dangling from my fingers and my arms pressed to my sides, as I make a face at Gale. He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he's trying not to laugh.

"_Not funny,_" I mouth at him. This just makes him chuckle.

"How's my favorite Everdeen?" Rye asks jovially once I'm finally free of his grasp.

"Fine," I answer shortly. What is _he_ doing here? What is he doing _here_? "Um, Rye?"

"Um, Kat?"

"What are you-?"

"Doing here?" he finishes for me, grinning.

I hand a few squirrels over to Greasy Sae. "Yeah."

"Well, I'm glad you asked." His tone of voice suggests that he's been waiting a while for this conversation. His eyes sparkle with a mischievous look. "I hear you spent some time with that dear brother of mine."

I'm tempted to say, "Which one?" But I don't. I just jerk my shoulders in something like a shrug as I accept a bowl from Sae.

"How is he, anyway?" Rye asks, as if he doesn't know.

"How should I know? Haven't seen him in a few days." I take a spoonful of the stew to my lips. "More _beef_, huh?" I ask with a wink.

Sae nods and smiles. "Yes, of course. Beef."

Rye won't be distracted. He leans against the counter next to me and, while Gale haggles over the price of some soap a few feet away, says, "Now I know where those cupcakes went."

I give him the I-don't-know-what-you're-talking-about look and eat some more stew.

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It's not like I haven't sneaked some cupcakes out of the bakery to give to pretty girls before."

I ignore his last comment and instead ask, "Where are you going with this?"

"Nowhere in particular." He pushes himself away from the counter with his un-bandaged hand. "Just making sure my little brother's girlfriend knows how lucky she is."

I feel my face heat up and open my mouth to protest. I am _not_ Peeta's girlfriend! Am I? No. No, definitely not. Just because we- no.

"Say thanks to your mom for fixing up my hand."

Then he's gone, striding through the shadowed paths of the Hob and looking completely at ease, even though everyone is staring at him like he has two heads.

"I will," I say, even though he's already out the door by now. Gale returns a minute later and we finish our soup before moving on. I let Gale trade. My mind is too full of questions to focus. Why do I get the feeling that that's not all Rye came for?

For some reason, that list starts going through my head again. _Seam. Town. Miners. Merchants. _A Townie in the Hob. Huh. Maybe those barriers aren't as insurmountable as I thought.


	15. Chapter 15

**Hey guys! I'm on break now, and I'll have plenty of down time starting next week (I'm going to have my wisdom teeth pulled- yippee) so hopefully I'll be updating more often from now on.**

**For this chapter, it'd be great if you could leave a review telling me what you think is going to happen next. Thanks!**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**~Peeta POV~**

Rye walks in and gives me a wicked grin. I immediately take a mental inventory on everything I've done in the past few days that he could possibly use against me in some way. I can't think of anything. I haven't sneaked out any more cupcakes… I haven't left my sketchbook where he can find it… I haven't been caught staring at Katniss…

Before I can figure out what he's so happy about, Rye walks past me and messes up my hair with his uninjured hand. "Guess who I saw in the Hob?" he asks conversationally.

I nearly choke on my glass of water. "You were in the Hob?" I splutter.

"Yep. Careful- you breathe air and drink water, not the other way around."

I set down my drink and peer at Rye. Slowly, not trusting him in the least, I ask, "Who did you see?"

Rye leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling. "Oh, just a certain young Everdeen… Long, dark hair… Storm-cloud eyes… Know 'er?"

I glare at him. Whatever he's up to, it can't be good. "Okay. So, what did she say?"

"She asked me what I was doing there. And…" He pauses for a longer span of time than is strictly necessary. I can tell that now he's just messing with me. I refuse to prompt him. At last he continues, "And she said she hasn't seen you in a few days. She misses you."

"She said that?" Despite my suspicion, I can't help but to latch onto that piece of information.

"Well, she didn't say that _exactly_. But it was implied." He pauses again, taking time to examine his fingernails.

This time I let myself say, "And? Anything else?"

"Well, I don't know if you've noticed, but the meadow has a bunch of flowers growing in it."

I'm usually pretty good at dealing with my brothers, but by this point, my patience is wearing thin. I give Rye a withering look and say blankly, "You want me to give Katniss flowers?"

Rye shrugs. "Of course. I'm surprised you haven't caught on by this point. See, here's how it goes- once you start dating a girl, pre-kiss and post-cupcakes, you give her flowers."

I think about the short, sweet kiss in the forest, and stand up to dump out my glass before Rye can see the smile that tugs up the corners of my mouth. "Katniss isn't really a flowers type girl."

I hear footsteps retreating into the kitchen and Rye's voice calls, "How do you know if you don't try?"

Well… There _are_ plenty of field pansies and yellow violets in the meadow. And Katniss never said that she _didn't_ like flowers. A memory comes to the front of my mind- one of those ones I know I'll never forget. It was the day after I gave Katniss the bread, when she looked half-starved. I was at school. I was watching her as she walked, head down, and suddenly she looked up. Our eyes met for a second before I looked away, embarrassed at being caught watching her. But when I looked back, I saw her bending down to pick up something. A dandelion. She smiled softly at the little weed, then cupped it in her hands and hurried away, like she had suddenly been filled with an urgent purpose.

The door swings shut behind me and I can hear Rye laughing openly from an upstairs window. My feet take me in the direction of the Seam, to where I know there's an entrance to the meadow. I must be crazy.

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

My mind is still filled with thoughts of crumbling walls as I step through the door. Prim looks up from some sort of sewing project and smiles at me before going back to work. I put away the things I got at the Hob and go to sit next to her. For a while I just watch her hands and comb through her hair. I think. I hum. Then I stop, because it reminds me too much of my father.

"What did you do today?" I ask.

Prim bites off the thread and ties a knot. "Not much. I helped mom weed the garden and brushed Buttercup."

I roll my eyes, counting on the curtain of hair around Prim's face to hide it from her.

"What about you?"

"I went hunting with Gale and traded in the Hob." I hesitate. "And I saw Rye there."

Prim, to my bafflement, doesn't look surprised. "How's his hand?"

"Better, I think. He made some cryptic comment about Peeta."

"Are you sure it was cryptic?" Prim asks quietly.

"What do you mean?"

She giggles. "Well, Katniss, sometimes you're not very good at figuring out what other people mean. What did he say?"

"He said… He said he wanted to make sure I knew how lucky I was. Because of Peeta."

Prim puts down the sewing project and tips her head to one side. "So, either Peeta asked him to talk to you, which I doubt, somehow, or he's just looking out for his younger brother."

I can just smile and shake my head. "However did I get a little sister like you? I think you got all the people skills."

"Then you got all the survival skills," Prim counters. "We make a pretty good team, don't we?"

"Sure do." I pull Prim into a hug before unfolding myself from the floor and going to wash my hands before cleaning the game. I've just finished a squirrel when someone knocks on the door. My hands are still dripping crimson. I use my pinky to turn the doorknob, trying not to get blood on the wood, and knock it open with my hip. Peeta greets me with a very shy grin, his hands hidden behind his back.


	16. Chapter 16

**Update! **

**I have a question for you guys, and I'd really appreciate it if you could answer in a review. Should I, when the time comes, go on to write about Peeta and Katniss going into the Hunger Games as a couple? Or should I end it before that?**

**Thanks! Enjoy!**

* * *

**~Peeta POV~**

The first thing I notice about Katniss are her hands, which are stained a bright red. Blood. But on her face is a calm, somewhat curious expression. She pushes the door further open with her foot and half-steps onto the porch, and I tear my eyes away from her hands to look her in the eyes. "So, who'd you murder?" I ask jokingly.

Katniss, with a perfectly straight face, replies, "Darius. He was getting on my nerves."

I gape at her for a few seconds, trying to decide if she's kidding or not. I wouldn't label Katniss as a murderer, but Darius _is _a peacekeeper. She'd have plenty of reason, and more than enough means… And then she laughs, a light, musical sound, and says, "I'm _joking_. It's just squirrel blood. What's behind your back?"

I slowly pull out the small bundle of flowers from behind my back. "For you." I present them to her.

Katniss tips her head to the side, eyeing the offering, and then reaches out and gathers the stems up in her hands. She runs a blood-spattered hand over the petals, leaving a trail of crimson droplets, a very small smile on her face and her eyes downcast. The afternoon sun lights up one side of her face, leaving the other side in shadows. She looks like an angel. A beautiful, deadly angel.

I want to draw her. I fix this image in my mind's eye as firmly as I can, memorizing every detail. The shadow of her eyelashes on her cheek, the bright drops of blood on the pale petals, her hands coated in the stuff, her braid flicked casually over one shoulder.

"What?"

Katniss's captivating gray eyes have flicked up to my face. I realize I've been staring at her and quickly look away. "Nothing. Do you like them?"

She nods. "Do you want to come in?"

I follow her into the small house, and as I pass through the doorway, the mixed smell of blood and flowers makes me shiver for some reason I can't define. Prim is sitting on the ground, tugging a needle through a piece of threadbare fabric. She smiles and waves when she sees me. Mrs. Everdeen is nowhere to be found. I wonder if she's in another room. Then I wonder if there _is_ another room.

Katniss places the flowers in an old, chipped pitcher on the table, not seeming to realize that she's leaving red handprints everywhere she goes. I can't help but grin. "Caught red-handed, huh?"

"Oh. Yeah." She moves to the sink and rinses off her hands, the water swirling in streaks down the drain. I grab a towel from the back of a chair and start to wipe away the handprints. I find one on the doorframe, one on the table, a pair by the sink, and, of course, on the pitcher. The flowers I leave alone, mostly because I think it looks interesting to have the red drops interspersed on the leaves.

Katniss goes to sit at the table, and I'm about to join her when there's a knock at the door. Katniss changes direction and pulls open the door. I'm not surprised when I see Gale standing in the doorway. "Hey, Catnip," he says, not yet realizing I'm here. "Do you need any paraffin? We have extra and I know you were going to make candles soon."

"No, we have some. Thanks, though."

Gale glances over Katniss's shoulder and his eyes land on me. I freeze, caught in his hunter's gaze, pretty sure he's about to send an arrow through my eye. But all he does is say, "Oh. Okay. I'll see you later, then." With that he turns, jamming his hands in his pockets, and walks away.

Katniss shuts the door and turns back to me with a distracted look on her face. "I wonder what that was about," she mutters. Then she shrugs and plops down in the seat across from me. We talk for a while, until Prim comes to do homework, at which point I excuse myself and head home. As soon as I'm through the door, I grab my notebook and start to draw. Very, very slowly, it transforms from a rough sketch to a delicate drawing. I even use some of my precious, mineral-based paints. By the time it's finally done, I'm shocked to see the sun setting.

I carefully replace my paints and paintbrush in their box, setting the painting out to dry, and wonder if I'll ever be able to afford the thick, fancy Capitol paints I've only ever seen a few times in my life. Then I scoff at myself. In Twelve, the only way I'd be rich enough to get those on a regular basis would be to be a Victor. And that's one thing that I'm absolutely sure will never happen.

* * *

**Yes, I know. I just had to add that last sentence. XD Don't forget to answer my question about the Games in a review, if you can. Please and thank you! Until next time!**


	17. Chapter 17

**Okay, guys, I can't wait to see what you think of this chapter. It's kinda long, and... well, you'll see. Please please please don't be mad at me for the way I ended it! No, this doesn't exactly follow what the books say, but don't worry! Nothing major about the story is going to change. This fanfic is as canon as possible.**

**Without further ado, enjoy!**

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

I've never cared much for school. We're all going to become coal miners or merchants anyway, so why learn about all these things that don't matter? Who cares about the hypotenuse of a triangle when you have a family to feed or business to run? So, naturally, I'm paying no attention at all when the teacher calls my name.

"Yes?" I say, hoping she didn't just ask a question.

No such luck. "If the legs of the triangle are three and four, what is the hypotenuse?"

Thankfully, I memorized this question days ago, it appears in the textbook so often. "Five."

The teacher eyes me skeptically, like she thinks I'm cheating somehow, and then reluctantly moves on. I go back to running over the list of supplies we need next time I go to the Hob. For the millionth time in my life, I silently give thanks that no one can hear your thoughts. Your mind is the only place completely secure, even from the Capitol.

After three more hours that drag by like molasses in a snowstorm, the bell jangles and I hop out of my seat. Prim is waiting for me under the tree and I run a hand over her hair once I reach her. "Hey there," I greet her.

"Hey. Are we making candles today?" she asks, grabbing my hand and practically skipping towards home. Prim loves making candles. She always decorates them by pressing dried flowers and small, pretty pebbles into the still-soft wax, despite my protests.

"We sure are." I sidestep a muddy puddle. "Better start collecting pebbles."

"Oh, I already have a collection. I've been saving them."

Of course.

As we approach our house, I glance up and notice that one of the trees near the front door has grown close to the chimney. A little too close. Hmm. I'll have to go up there and hack away some branches before winter, when we'll be using the fireplace every day.

My mother is hovering by the table when we enter, laying out the things we'll need to make candles- paraffin, an iron pot, thick strings, the odd, wind chime-looking contraption we'll pour the wax into. Prim and I wash our hands and get straight to work, mixing and pouring as my mother tends the fire until it's the right temperature. We take turns stirring the pot with a large metal spoon. The leafy smell of the mixture reminds me of springtime. I smile softly, then catch myself and stop.

Some time later, I hand off the spoon to my mother and drag my sleeve across the back of my neck. The fire is hot enough that it seems as if it's the middle of summer. I grab my hunting cap and pull it onto my head, curling my braid up into it to keep the hair off my neck.

It's not long after that when my mother pronounces the mixture ready to pour, and I wrap my hands in cloth to hold the mold while she ladles scalding wax into it. When she scrapes the pot almost clean, there's just enough to fill all twelve molds. I heft it onto the table to cool and unwrap my hands, sighing. Prim fetches her jar of pebbles and pretty things, even though it'll be at least an hour before the candles are ready to pull out.

"Oh," my mother says suddenly, "I forgot. Hazel asked me to pick up the laundry today." She stands up and grabs a scarf from the peg on a wall.

"I can do it." It'll give me a chance to get out of the suffocatingly hot house.

"No," my mother insists, "I'll go." With that she steps out the door.

I turn to Prim. "What say we go gather some plants?"

She nods enthusiastically- apparently we're all eager to escape the heat- and jumps up. I slip on my father's hunting jacket, because while it's hot in here it'll be cool outside, and Prim grabs the plant book. We don't really need it, but it's comforting to have it with us and be able to trace the words my father so carefully penned in with the tips of our fingers as we read.

I steer us away from the fence, feeling more jittery than usual about being caught now that Prim is with me, and head for the meadow. We spend at least an hour there, plucking blooms both to eat and to tuck into our hair. Prim brought along a round, loosely-woven basket, and soon it's filled with leaves, flowers and roots.

I'm just about to suggest we go back when I register that something is wrong. I freeze, my hunter's senses taking over, and spend a long moment just listening. But it's not a sound that makes my heart contract in alarm- it's a smell. Smoke. My head snaps up and I scan the horizon. There. A thin column of white that could be mistaken for a cloud. But I know better.

"Prim! Come on!"

Prim sees it a half-second later and then we're running, hand in hand, hurtling towards the Seam and hoping, praying that it's not our house. The closer we get, the more my chest feels like it's going to burst, and not just from the sprint. I can hear shouts and clanging. The plume of smoke is quickly turning gray tinted with orange. It could still be someone else's house. We could still be safe. It's not… it's not…

We round the corner and stop so abruptly that Prim almost falls over. Her arms go limp and the basket falls to the ground and rolls a few feet, scattering petals, before bumping to a stop next to a stump. I stagger towards the stump and collapse onto it, pressing my hands over my face. But I can't block out the image of my home, half-engulfed in oily flames. The chimney. We left the fire going and the tree branches above the chimney must have caught. And then it probably wasn't too long before the rest caught… All that coal dust… I just hope my mother- my mother!

"Mom!" I yell hoarsely, lurching to my feet and looking around frantically. "Mom!"

Prim joined me, and our combined, scratchy, desperate voices, punctuated by coughing from the smoke, merged with the roar of the fire to create the most hopeless sound I have ever heard. Prim is sobbing. I make a choking sound in the back of my throat, but I can't cry. I won't.

"Katniss! Prim!"

I spin around just in time to nearly be knocked over by the flying mass of wispy blonde hair and rumpled scarf. We crumple to the ground, Prim, my mother and I, and clutch each other as close as we can get while we watch our home burn.

Some of our neighbors- people from the Seam who we trade news and supplies with- are brave enough to grab buckets, bowls and anything else that will hold water and attack the fire. With cloth pulled up over their faces and hands soot-blackened, they dart back and forth between the house and a nearby well. But it's too late. I've seen enough fires, usually at the peak of summer, to know that once a smoke cloud grows that big, there's nothing you can do. Even if they manage to put it out now, the house is completely ruined.

I pull Prim even closer to me and tuck her face into the space between my neck and shoulder. My mother knots her fingers in the sleeve of the hunting jacket, maybe holding onto the one piece of home left. But, no. Not the last piece.

"I have the plant book," I murmur, looking down to realize that it is, indeed, still clamped in my grip. My mother reaches out, her hand shaking, and gently strokes the cover. There are tears streaming down her face. Once again, I am left to be the strong one.

It seems like forever goes by, during which the glow of the fire grows dimmer and the cloud of smoke grows larger, until at last I'm startled out of my shock by a cry. I raise my head from where it was resting against Prim's. There are still people trying to smother the flames, but they aren't running anymore. Just stumbling back and forth, looking exhausted, coughing, with red faces and smudged clothes. I feel hollow, like someone opened up my chest and scooped out my heart. I hear another yell, the same that brought me out of my trance, and blink dazedly until I locate the source.

Peeta is being held back by two Seam boys, looking like he's about to charge right into the fire. The boys look grim. They simply dig their heels into the dirt, hold onto Peeta's arms and shake their heads. "Katniss!" Peeta screams, fighting to get free. "Katniss! Prim! Mrs. Everdeen!"

My head swims. "Peeta," I croak, but something's wrong with my voice. "Peeta!" I try again, and this time it's audible. "Here!"

Peeta's head jerks toward us and relief floods his face. He breaks free from the two boys and in an instant he's at my side, pulling at my shoulders. He's saying something, but it barely makes any sense. My head is pounding. "Up, get up, we need to get you away from here. Katniss, get up. Katniss?" He's looking more and more desperate, and finally he turns to someone behind him and demands, "What's wrong with her?"

"They've all had way too much smoke inhalation," a voice says. "If we get them away and give them some water, and rest, they should be fine."

My head has fallen back onto Prim's shoulder, and I can feel her shivering. The last thing I register before I sink into darkness is Peeta scooping me up, stroking my hair and telling me that it's going to be okay. It isn't.

* * *

**(Gasp!) Oh, no! What are they gonna do? **

**Tell me what you think is going to happen next. I'm curious! **


	18. Chapter 18

**Hey! So, quick note. November is here, and you know what that means: NaNoWriMo! (If you don't know it, look it up.)** **So, since I'll be super busy working on my novel, I won't be able to update quite as often. :( I'll still try to update every few weeks, but please understand if the new chapters don't get up quite as often, on this story and on Growing Together.**

**Thanks! Enjoy!**

* * *

**~Peeta POV~**

The chilled wind has made my cheeks sting by the time I get home. I heave my backpack onto the floor and wince when I hear the heavy _thud_ it makes. Lots of homework tonight. That means I'll probably be up late trying to finish. Homework is no excuse for missing part of your shift in the bakery.

I sigh, puffing out my cheeks, and then drop my backpack off in my room and grab an apron. It seems like just a few minutes, but several hours have gone by before I know it. I glance at the clock. I only have half an hour left before Sand, my eldest brother, takes over. I look over our stock of various baked goods in the pantry, determining that we need more muffins, and get to work.

Just a couple minutes later, Sand wanders into the kitchen. He knocks me on the back of the head on the way by, and I, in turn, ignore him. A small smile pulls up the corners of my mouth, though.

"Hey, Peeta."

"Hey, Sand."

"Uh… I think you should come take a look at this."

I shake my head, focusing on mixing the bowl I'm holding. "No way." Last time I fell for that, I got a bucket of ice water dumped on my head from where it had been balancing on the door.

"No, really, you need to see this."

"I really don't."

"Peeta, I'm serious."

"I bet you are."

"There's a fire."

In an instant, I'm at the window next to him, hands clutching the windowsill. There, in the distance, is the unmistakable plume of grayish smoke. My chest freezes over when I realize that it's over the general vicinity of the Seam. _Katniss,_ I think. Then, _No. It's not her. It can't be._ "What do you think it is?" I ask.

"Seam," Sand replies, confirming my suspicion. He jerks his head to one side and turns away from the window. "I hope it's the black market. Would serve them right."

"The Hob?" I imagine the chaos inside the building, if that's really what it is. The place is so full of coal dust, it might go up fast enough that not everyone would make it out… I shudder and tell myself that the smoke plume is too small to be from something of that size. It's just big enough for something small… a house, maybe. Immediately, the image of Katniss's small but sturdy house jumps up in my mind.

"Sand? Could you take over early for me?" I ask, already peeling off the apron and tossing it onto a chair.

"Hmm. Maybe. Why would I?" Sand's dark eyes glitter, and I'm reminded that, out of the three of us, he's the most like my mother. Calculating. Cold, sometimes.

"I need to go check on the fire." I gesture weakly out the window. "I mean, I can't just…"

Sand just tips his head to the side, and I sigh.

"All right, I'll take over two hours of your shift tomorrow. Please? Just half an hour?"

He finally shrugs and snatches up a measuring cup.

I go dashing out the door, trying desperately to convince myself that she's okay. She is. Of course she is. But the closer I get to the Seam, the less air my lungs seemed to take in. None of these houses are burning. None. The smoke is coming from the general area of her house. And not just smoke- voices. Shouting. Someone is screaming, too. Not her. I would recognize her screams. Wouldn't I? It's not her. It's _not_.

I round the final corner and nearly smack into someone carrying an empty bucket. They shove it into my hands and shout, "Don't just stand there! The well's that way!" before racing away. I force my eyes to the ground, still not brave enough to look up and see what house is burning, and find the well. The line of about five people moves quickly, and soon I scoop up a messy, sloshing bucket of water and move back to the path.

I have to look now. There's no reason not to. I look up.

Katniss's house is half-engulfed in hungry, leaping flames that make a sound like never-ending thunder. Smoke explodes from the windows, rushing out like one gigantic, black snake. Even from here, several dozen yards away, it chokes the air, forcing me to pull my shirt up over my nose and mouth. The bucket of water falls unheeded from my hand.

All I can think is, _Where's Katniss?_ She's not with the ranks battling the fire. She's not in the small crowd of bystanders. She's not… Oh, God, she's not still in the house, is she?

"Katniss!" I call, starting forward. "Katniss!"

Two sets of arms grab me and pull me back before I can get within ten yards of the place. Even from here, the heat sears my skin. "You can't go in," one of the people says. "It's too late. There's nothing left."

I feel like I've been stabbed. What is he saying? He can't mean that she's- dead? "Katniss! Katniss! Prim, Mrs. Everdeen!" I scream, just hoping, grasping at that chance that someone will answer.

"Peeta." My head snaps toward the sound. There, in a small, defeated heap some ways away from the fire, are three shivering bodies. My feet carry me toward them automatically, and I grip Katniss shoulders. Her eyes are scarily clouded.

"Up, get up, we need to get you away from here," I say urgently, tugging on her arms. She doesn't respond except to blink. "Katniss, get up. Katniss?" She's really starting to scare me now. "What's wrong with her?" I demand, addressing the Seam boy that came to stand behind me.

"They've all had way too much smoke inhalation. If we get them away and give them some water, and rest, they should be fine." He sounds almost bored, and I want to punch him in the face. Doesn't he realize how dangerous this is? How badly this could have ended? How badly it _will_ end?

I motion for him to help with Prim and Mrs. Everdeen, but I pick up Katniss myself. I slide one arm under her knees and another around her shoulders, lifting her relatively easily. She can't weigh much more than a bag of flour. It looks like she's about to fall asleep. Or pass out. Probably the latter. Her head falls onto my shoulder and her feet bounce every time I take a step.

"It's okay," I tell her, even though I'm pretty sure she's out by now. "You're going to be okay. I promise."


	19. Chapter 19

**Aaaahhh I'm so sorry it took me so long to update! It's just, I've been so busy working on my novel for NaNoWriMo! But we only have about a week of November left, and I promise I'll pick up the pace after that.**

**Enjoy!**

**~Katniss POV~**

I wake up to hushed voices. At first I'm beyond confused. Where the heck am I? What's going on? I'm not in the woods. I'm not at school. I'm not at h-

Home. My house.

I groan quietly and press the heels of my hands into my eyes. Small, cold fingers gently lift my hands away and I see Prim lying next to me, tears coursing down her face. I automatically gather her up in my arms. Her hair smells like smoke. I trace her two silky braids with the tips of my fingers as I half sit up, looking around. My mother is standing a few feet away, talking to someone I don't recognize at first. Then, when he turns around, I realize it's Mr. Mellark. We must be in the upstairs part of the bakery.

Prim sits up and whimpers, "Mom?"

My mom comes over and just about falls down next to us. She strokes our hair and for once I don't pull away. I'm too much in shock to pull away. "Is it all gone?" I ask in a monotone.

Mr. Mellark answers for my mother. "No all. But it would probably be easier to rebuild than to try to fix it."

I nod. My mother buries her face in her hands.

My surroundings come into better focus, and I realize that we're in the same small living room that I visited once before. I tense and glance towards the stairs. "Don't worry," Mr. Mellark says, as if reading my mind, "My wife's out of town. So you can stay here for a while."

"How long is a while?" I asked guardedly.

Everyone glanced at each other, and I was filled with the irksome feeling that they were keeping something from me. "A while."

"Okay, what is it? What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing."

"Tell me."

"Katniss, it's nothing!"

At that moment, the door opened. I only had time to catch a glimpse of messy blonde hair before I'm tackled in a bone-crushing hug. "Katniss," Peeta says, somehow sounding relieved and worried at the same time. He pushes a glass of water into my hands. "How are you feeling?"

I just shake my head, because I don't even know.

Prim and my mother each get a glass, too, and we all grow quiet for a while as we drink.

Mr. Mellark taps my mother on the elbow and motions for her to follow him downstairs, murmuring something about arranging sleeping quarters. Prim gets up and follows them. I gulp down the last of the water in my cup and set it down on the small table beside the sofa. Peeta sits down next to me and holds out his arms. I lean against him, too drained to do anything else.

"What will you do now?" he asks, gently stroking my hair.

"I don't know," I reply. "Just… survive, I guess."

"Well, you're good at that."

I shrug.

"Your family is staying here until your house is built again."

"Won't you get in trouble?" I ask. "From peacekeepers, or your mother?"

"Why would the peacekeepers care?"

Another shrug. _Why, aren't I eloquent today?_

Peeta hands me another glass of water, producing it as if out of thin air, and says, "Drink."

"That's what I've been doing," I mutter, but I take a sip anyway. "How'd you find us?"

"I saw the smoke. I didn't know it was your house, at first, but I had to check. I thought you were still in the building…" His arms wrap around me more firmly, as if I'll melt into smoke and disappear if he lets go.

"No. We were in the meadow. And Mom was with Hazel."

"Hazel?"

"Gale's mom."

He nods. I realize that my hair is loose, down around my shoulders. Peeta holds the ribbon that used to hold it in place.

"Hey," I protest, "Now it's going to tangle."

"I'll brush it out," Peeta says, sounding happy to have an excuse.

I roll my eyes, but I'm not really angry at him. How could I be? He just saved my life, and Prim's, and my mother's. Again. That's twice I owe him my life.

True to his word, Peeta fetches a brush and begins to comb through my hair. He's exceedingly gentle, never tugging on a snarl, always patiently going through it until it comes out. I sit up straight, perching on the edge of the couch as he brushes. It takes a lot longer than it necessarily should.

"Aren't you done yet?" I ask.

"Nope. Show me how to braid it," he requests, then adds on, "Please."

I sigh and reach back, separating it into three sections and weaving them together. "Right over center. Left over center. Right over center," I say aloud as I braid, to make it easier for him. He promptly unbraids it again and tries it on his own. I don't know if he's braiding slowly because he doesn't have the hang of it yet, or if he just wants to play with my hair for as long as possible.

By the time he finally ties it off, I've emptied the second cup of water and I'm feeling a lot more alert. Which is why, when Mr. Mellark comes in again, followed by my mother and Prim, I stand up right away.

"The boys can all share a room," he says, sending Peeta a half-frown as if daring him to object. "And you, Prim and your mother can share one. It's not much, but-"

"Thank you," I interrupt. "It's perfect. We owe your family our lives."

He smiles at me and waves us down a thin but airy hallway. "Please. You owe us nothing."

_How wrong you are,_ I think, stepping into the hallway after Prim. _We owe you everything._


	20. Chapter 20

**Da-da-daaa! I'm ba-ack!**

**(Please don't hate me.)**

**I'm trying to update all my multi-chapter stories this week, after the hiatus, so sit tight!**

* * *

Prim absolutely adores life in the bakery. She skips down the stairs every morning to bend over the new sugary creations, her eyes so wide you'd think she was inspecting fairies, or precious gems and gold, not just cupcakes. She pets the soft, worn material of the couches and chairs reverently, completely unaccustomed to the relative finery of merchant life after growing up in a home almost completely made of wood and metal. She carefully tends the fire as Rye instructs her to, poking sticks and logs into the hot flames. I wince every time she does, but Rye assures me, with a booming laugh, that, "Your little sis is safe with me!"

My mother temporarily sets up shop in the Hawthornes' house, to Hazel's insistence, so she's gone for most of the day. Gale stops by a couple times, concern written all over his face, but he looks uncomfortable with being in the bakery. His visits are brief, and after a while he just tells me to come by his house if I need anything.

As for me, I'm constantly in the Seam, attempting to clear the rubble of my house. While the structure was decimated, quite a few things were salvageable. Pots, utensils, a particularly sturdy rocking chair my father built before he died- even the new candles made it, thanks to their position in the very middle of the house, away from the walls. I give most of them to the Mellarks, since we can't very well use them right now. Plus, it might start to pay them back for housing us. By the time I get back every evening, my boots are caked with ashes and my clothes carry a smoky scent. But it's worth it, because of the small treasures I bring with me.

Three, four days go by like this, and the house is starting to empty. Still no sign of Mrs. Mellark. "She's visiting her sister, on the other side of town by the train station," Mr. Mellark explains. "She's ill."

I wonder if he means Mrs. Mellark or her sister. I decide not to ask.

Through all this, I see Peeta often. Usually, it's just a small smile as we pass each other in a hallway, or a couple words exchanged over bites of lunch, but we do have some real conversations, too, usually in the evening. We curl up in front of the fireplace, our fingers stretching out towards the warmth, and just talk. It takes me a while to thaw out, but once I start talking, my voice sometimes runs ahead of my brain. Then I bite my lip, wincing, when I realize I've said too much.

One time, we're talking about our favorite seasons. "Springtime," I answer quietly. "Because it means rebirth. And because of the dandelions."

Peeta raises an eyebrow. "Dandelions?"

I shake my head, unwilling to share the reasons behind my fondness for the common weed. Peeta frowns, but his brow quickly smoothes again. Huh. Maybe I'm not the only one who hides my emotions…

"Well. My favorite season is autumn, because of all the color."

"How did I guess?"

He laughs. I smile- though it's really more of a smirk.

On the day that I at last finish sifting through the ashes, it snows. The cold, dry air bites my cheeks and sends little plumes of vapor bursting from my lips as I pant. Despite the chill, little drops of sweat break out on my forehead. Digging through the ruins of my old home is hard work, and not just physically. Every handful of gray dust and oily, black chunks of debris brings memories pounding against my skull. Here's the bed frame, which had multiple dents in it from all the times I kicked at it in frustration or anger. Here's the table, and the pitcher, once speckled with blood and filled with flowers, now just a chalky mass of cracked, smoke-stained shards.

I don't cry, though. I won't.

Occasionally, I find a small, paper-wrapped package lying on the remainder of the fireplace. Everyone in the Seam can relate to this. We all fear fire, on some level, because of the mines. So, a few people send us little gifts, to help us. Prim handles them, since I feel too guilty to do anything with the packages except dump them on her lap and walk away quickly. Whatever they are, we don't need them as much as the people that gave them to us. We're living practically in the lap of luxury, nestled in the always warm bakery while everyone else freezes in their cabins. It makes me physically sick.

Light, fluffy, dancing snowflakes as large as the end of my thumb swirl between houses and around people's boots. It's the first snow of the season, and coats and scarves are just being brought out. Toddlers and young children are so dressed up in layers they look like marshmallows- puffy, sugary things used occasionally in baking, according to Peeta. When I asked, he couldn't believe I had never eaten a marshmallow before.

"Ever?" he said, incredulously.

"Never."

Suddenly, a sweet, soft thing was popped into my mouth, earning a small gasp of surprise from me.

"Now you have!"

I retaliated by flicking flour at him.

Now, I stumble slightly on the new snow, which is not yet gray from coal. Behind me, a set of ashy footsteps stretch out towards the seam, weaving randomly between obstacles. I shiver, hating the feeling of ashes on my boots and wishing I don't ever have to feel it again.


	21. Chapter 21

It's been a month since we moved to the empty house next to the Hawthorns'. The family here all died of starvation last winter. Peacekeepers carted the bodies out the following spring. When I confided my discomfort about being a burden on the Mellarks to Gale, he happily informed me of the vacant cabin, and we moved in soon after.

Peeta was disappointed to see us go, I think. I just hope I didn't say anything to make him think that I somehow left because of him. I didn't. I just didn't want to be a burden. I tried to explain that, but, as usual, my minimal talent with words left me trailing off awkwardly mid-sentence. Peeta pulled me into a hug, ran a hand down my hair and said that it was fine, he understood. I still felt bad.

Now we only see each other at school, and a couple times a week during spare minutes. Or, rather, spare hours. I'm not usually very eager to turn right back around into the bitter cold once I've stopped at the bakery. Chit-chat turns into long discussions, like the evenings in front of the fire… I should not miss those evenings. I should not long for the perpetual warmth of the ovens and of Peeta's laugh. But I do.

Prim seems to miss the bakery, too. She won't say anything, of course, but I can tell. She misses the cushioned furniture and electricity. It's easy for me to imagine Prim living there. She would fit right in with the Townies without anyone blinking an eye, with her pale spun-gold hair and periwinkle eyes. She would spend real coins on soft cloth for mom to sew dresses out of. She would eat three meals every day- maybe not Capitol-rich meals, but three _whole_ meals. Yes, I have very little doubt that Prim would be very happy living in town. My mother, too. I'm the one who doesn't belong.

I shake myself and turn away from the frost-glazed window. Those kinds of thoughts won't help with anything.

The recently un-abandoned cabin is a shade larger than our old house, or maybe it just seems like that because it's so empty. The only pieces of furniture are the slightly charred rocking chair, a bed made of fresh pine boughs placed with needles pointing down and a plank balanced on two stumps for a table. No curtains for the windows, no table, no sink. Our old house didn't have a real sink, of course, just a large bucket that always sat on a table in the corner, under the window, but it was just as good as a real sink. I've gotten used to running water. _May as well get used to the idea of cold, stale water again, since that's what we have,_ I remind myself sternly. _Stop wanting more. You have enough. You have more than enough._

"I can start rebuilding the house in late spring," I announce, absentmindedly stuffing rags into a rather large hole in the wall. A spider skitters out and I pluck it off my arm, then drop it on the floor and stomp on it until it stops moving. Only then do I realize that Prim and my mother's eyes are on me. "What?"

"Rebuild? Why?"

Now it's my turn to stare. "Because… because… it's our home!" I explode. How can they look at me like that, like I'm crazy for wanting our home back? Do they not want to rebuild? Are they just abandoning the place where Dad lived? I can't make myself force the words past my lips, particularly the last ones, so I say, "We need it!"

"We have a house," my mother counters, raising her arms to indicate the structure we stand in.

"This is _not_ our house."

"Why not? It's got a good chimney, and windows and a door. It has a nice wood floor and it's sturdy. We can fix it up in no time."

"Fix it up?" I half-ask, half-growl. "There are holes the size of watermelons in the walls, the roof is moldy- it needs to be completely re-thatched- the front step is rotten and there are spiders everywhere."

She waved a hand. "Fixable. It'll be as good as new by summer. Plus, it's convenient. Barely a minute's walk to the Hawthorn's."

I don't know why this irks me.

"What's wrong, Katniss?" Prim says, and I catch an unusual mischievous edge to her voice. I narrow my eyes suspiciously, but she goes on. "Would you rather go live with Peeta, instead?"

"No!" I say shrilly. Yes, I miss the ease of merchant life. Yes, I would like to see Peeta more often. But I do not, under any circumstances, want to marry-

_Marry? Who said anything about marriage?_ a smug little voice in my head whispered.

I turn on my heel abruptly and storm through the door, embarrassed and still angry. Why did I even bring it up?

With no hunting gear, no coat and no real destination, I wander off into the light snow, frost crunching beneath my feet.


	22. Chapter 22

I'm a little worried about Katniss. That is, I _was_ a little worried about Katniss, until Prim ran into the bakery, cheeks red and coat on inside-out, and started yelling about how she had disappeared. Since then I've been way more than a little worried- I've been frantic.

Prim is sobbing. Her young, delicate face, not yet completely rid of its baby roundness, is crumpled up and flushed. She latched on to me as soon as she saw me, her skinny arms holding on with the grip of a vice.

"It's my f-fault!" she wails. "I was t-teasing her!"

"It's not your fault, Prim," I soothe, gesturing for my father to come in from the front and try to help me figure out what's going on. "I'm sure Katniss is fine. She just likes to be by herself sometimes."

"Not like this," Prim sniffs miserably. "She went out without a jacket, and she never goes out without anything! And it's snowing again!"

My father strokes Prim's hair, but frowns at me over her head. "What's this, now?"

"Katniss is missing," I say, keeping my tone level for Prim's sake. "Apparently she walked out and now the weather is turning bad."

"Katniss is smart, Prim," he says, using a tone I recognize from when I was smaller. A calm, confident, firm tone. "She knows what she's doing. She's been going out on her own for years now."

Prim looks up at him with a remorse-stricken face. "It's d-different. I know it is. I c-can tell."

"How?" I ask, puzzled.

Prim sniffs again, pressing her sleeve to her nose. "She's my sister," she says, as if that explains it.

Maybe it does. I don't have a very strong bond to either one of my brothers- I love them, of course, but we aren't close like Katniss and Prim. Maybe she really can tell when something is wrong.

"Do you know where she was going?"

Prim shakes her head. "I didn't see. By the time we figured out she wasn't just circling around outside the house, she was out of sight."

My father starts, "Okay. We'll wait an hour, and if no one sees her-"

"But she left two hours ago!" Prim howls.

This stops both of us in our tracks. I look out the window, which is like a fireplace in reverse. Ice crystals crawl up the un-curtained glass, letting in cold and darkness. Two hours is more than enough time to get lost, or kidnapped, or frostbite, or-

Stop.

Katniss is fine. She's survived in the Seam and in the Hob and in the woods since she was ten. She's used to taking care of herself, and she knows her way around. But what Prim says about going off without a coat, after an argument of some sort… That doesn't sound good. Katniss may have the survival skills of an alpha wolf, but she also has a wicked temper. If she was angry enough, she might not have been thinking straight. But what would have gotten her into such a state?

"Prim," I say gently. "What were you talking about before she left?"

"We were talking about the house," Prim ventures. "How we should fix it up, or… not fix it up… Rebuild our old house or stay in this one… Katniss wants to rebuild, probably because it's where Dad-" She cuts off and more tears streak down her face. "But mom wants to fix up this house," she rushes on, "And Katniss doesn't like that because it would take too much time and work."

"Is that all?" Somehow, I can't imagine Katniss running into a snowstorm because of just that.

Prim ducks her head. I can see a blush underneath her already tear-flushed face. "And I might have… teased her… about you."

Me? What is she-

My father steps back into the room, and only then do I realize that he left in the first place. Rye and Sand both follow him, Rye looking vaguely concerned and Sand looking pissed off.

"Right, here's what we'll do." He gathers all of us into a semi-circle around the counter, in front of the window. It strikes me, once again, how much Prim looks like us. She could be my little sister. "It's not snowing too hard, so we'll spread out and look for her. Prim, go with Peeta. Rye and Sand, stick together. I'll go by myself. Only stay outside for about an hour, and then come back inside."

"Why are we working so hard just to hunt down this skinny excuse for a seam-"

I cover Prim's ears right before Sand can finish his sentence with a word that would have Mother washing his mouth out with soap. She wouldn't hit him, though. Sand has always been her favorite. He was a lot like her.

"Change of plans," Father says easily. "Rye, come with me. Sand, you can stay home and watch the shop."

Sand shrugs and slinks away without a single glance back.

"Right. Ready?"

I don't think any of us are, but we nod anyway. We bundle up and force Prim into an extra jacket that's so large on her, she appears to be swimming in it. I'm so distracted by possible scenarios that it takes me a couple tries to tie my shoes right. _Please be okay, Katniss._

And then we head out the door, into the darkening evening.


	23. Chapter 23

**~Peeta POV~**

We pass Mrs. Everdeen on the way past the Hawthornes' house. Apparently, as Prim came to tell us about Katniss, Mrs. Everdeen went to Gale's family. But, even with the added family, none of us have seen Katniss yet. Our search party now includes Mrs. Hawthorne, and, to my slight annoyance, Gale. But I can't really be annoyed. I'm too worried for any other emotion to exist except at a minimal amount.

Gale is convinced that Katniss is in the woods. Not that I disagree. I think that's exactly where she is. But every time he says it, sounding so self-assured and, well, a bit pompous, I have to gaze at the ground so no one catches my glare.

"She'll be in the woods."

_Exactly how many times do you need to say that?_

"Probably sitting at our usual meeting place."

_What makes you think that?_

"I'll find her."

_Oh, will you, now._

I know it's stupid. Gale's just trying to help. He's probably just as worried about Katniss as I am. Once, when we were spending an evening near the fire in the bakery, keeping warm, I summoned up the courage to ask Katniss about her and Gale. She just blinked at me confusedly with those big, gray eyes and asked me what I meant, and I let it go at that. Obviously they weren't in any type of romantic relationship- or, at least, I hoped they weren't. But that didn't keep me from being jealous.

The fence turned out to be a problem. We couldn't all go in as a group, or risk getting caught. Most of us had little to no bearings in the forest, and would probably just end up more lost than Katniss, so there wasn't much sense in splitting up into groups. In the end, only Gale went in, promising to come back with Katniss before half an hour had passed.

Rye cast me a sympathetic glance as I stuffed my hands in my pockets, frustrated. What good was I doing, standing out here in the snow while Gale went off in search of Katniss? None! She could be freezing, or lost, or attacked by wild animals, or caught by Peacekeepers, or-

Prim is crying again, and I busy myself with folding her into a hug and trying to reassure her. It's something to do, at least. Plus, I hate to see Prim cry. I can see how Katniss loves her so much. She's sweet and innocent and delicate, exactly like the blossom she was named after. It's a knee-jerk reaction to take care of her.

Gale comes back alone. His face is noticeably paler than it was when he left. "She's not there," he says with a croak. For the first time, real panic seeps into his voice. "She's not at the rock or any of the snare lines or… anything. And her bow's still in the tree."

Prim buries her face in my sleeve and starts to whimper again.

"Well, where do we look next?" My father looks to Gale expectantly.

Gale looks uncomfortable. "Well, she could be… at the Hob, or at her old house, or…" He trails off.

_Ha. Not so confident now, are you?_ I immediately feel guilty. Katniss is missing and I'm busy being petty. I'm a terrible person.

Katniss isn't at the Hob, or the site of her old house. She's not at the Mayor's house, although Madge offers to help look for her. My father turns down her offer, saying that we have all the help we need, and plus, he doesn't want her to get lost, too. We're just about running out of places to look.

My fingers are numb and my feet feel like lead by the time we send Prim home. The snow is falling so thickly it's as if a giant feather pillow exploded right over our heads, and it's so cold that I can feel the hair poking out from under my hat starting to freeze.

"I think we need to get inside, too," my father says. "We can barely see five feet in front of us, and we won't be any use to Katniss if we're frozen. We'll wait until morning, when it's cleared up a bit."

I want to argue. It feels so wrong to just give up, to go inside and warm up with a hot drink next to a roaring fire while Katniss is probably alone and lost. But it makes sense, and I know arguing won't do any good. So, reluctantly, I follow Rye and my father back towards the bakery.

Sand is in no way troubled when we walk in, covered in snow, hours past sunset. He just flips the sign to _closed_, yanks shut the curtains and asks casually, "Did you find her?"

"No," I growl, dropping my wet boots by the door without even bothering to pick them up. I stomp up the stairs and into my room, where I slump with my elbows on the windowsill.

_Where is she?_

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

I'm an idiot. I didn't even grab a jacket on my way out the door. Didn't even stop to think where I was going. And now where am I? Trouble. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I find myself wishing I wasn't so stubborn all the time. Otherwise, I wouldn't be in this mess.

The clink of a cup against the table brings my attention to the present again.

"So," she says with a crooked smile. She's barely stopped talking since I walked through the door. "What brings ya here, girl?" She half-taps, half-slaps my injured arm, and I wince. With a wink, she turns away again and says, quietly, "They've been lookin' for ya, ya know."


	24. Chapter 24

**I own nothing except the plot. That is all.**

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

Peeta's aunt looks a lot like his mother. Tall, knobby-jointed, dark brown hair twisted into an unforgivingly tight bun. Which is why, when I first saw her on the pathway to her house, I tried to dodge behind a tree for cover. But then she turned, squinting through the snow, and I saw her face. Rounder eyes. Softer jaw line. This wasn't Mrs. Mellark. But she looked enough like her that she could only be one person: her sister. I had never met her, but while my family stayed at the bakery, she was mentioned regularly.

"You, girl," she called. Her voice, too, sounded a lot like Mrs. Mellark's. She beckoned with a crooked finger.

I crept forward warily, as I would while approaching a predator.

"Why aren't you wearin' a jacket?"

I shrugged, perplexed by the question. Why did she care? "I forgot it."

I was too busy glancing around, trying to figure out where exactly I was, to notice her coming toward me. By the time I saw her, she had already grasped my arm with a surprisingly strong grip. With a short, "Come on," she pulled me off the iced-over path, through the door and into a very small, very warm, very blue kitchen. I was plunked down at a little round table, and as suddenly as she had appeared, Peeta's aunt whisked away around a corner. I could still hear her, though, chattering about who knows what.

Now, as I sit here, shivering, I realize four things. One- I am very, very cold. I can't feel my fingers or toes, and my limbs don't hold much warmth, either.

Two- I have no idea where I am within District Twelve. Not good.

Three- my arm, which I've injured twice in the past two weeks, hurts. It's the same shoulder that Mrs. Mellark whacked with the fire poker, and now on top of that I've gone and fallen on it. Stupid ice.

Four- Mr. Mellark said that his wife was staying with her sister. So, if Peeta's aunt is here, his mother must be, too. And I definitely don't want to run into her.

I sneeze and start to reprimand myself. I'm an idiot. I didn't even grab a jacket on my way out the door. Didn't even stop to think where I was going. And now where am I? Trouble. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I find myself wishing I wasn't so stubborn all the time. Otherwise, I wouldn't be in this mess.

The clink of a cup against the table brings my attention to the present again.

"So," she says with a crooked smile. She's barely stopped talking since I walked through the door, though I haven't been paying much attention. "What brings ya here, girl?" She half-taps, half-slaps my injured arm, and I wince. With a wink, she turns away again and says, quietly, "They've been lookin' for ya, ya know."

"Who?" I snatch up the cup and pour half of the contents into my mouth, scalding my tongue, lips and cheeks. With a small yelp, I swallow reflexively, which only succeeds in burning the whole back of my throat.

"That's hot, by the way." She chuckles at her own joke. I glare at her. "Your friends 'ave been lookin' for ya." She deftly drops two small chunks of fresh snow into my cup to cool it. "I saw my brother-in-law out with a whole troop of kids 'bout your age. They were lookin' for ya. Must 'ave been."

I roll this over in my head. A troop of kids my age? That must mean Peeta, Rye, Sand and maybe Gale. They were out looking for me? Why? Have I really been gone that long? My stomach does a guilty little flip as I look out the window. Yes. Yes, I have. When I first set out, I was angry. That quickly faded into annoyance, but did I slow down as my temper cooled? No, of course not. I kept on stubbornly, stupidly going. By the time I figured out I was lost, I was already too worried about the cold to try to find my way back. It was a vicious spiral. The colder I got, the more I focused on finding someplace warm. The more I focused on finding someplace warm, the more lost I became. The more lost I became, the more time I spent out in the snow, and the more time I spent out in the snow the colder I got.

The whole time I'm thinking, Peeta's aunt keeps talking. "Well, you can't go home now. It's dark and snowin', and even if I gave you a jacket it would be too cold and too icy to walk. You'll stay. Of course, you'll have to sleep down here, by the fire."

My head snaps around and I fix her with a death glare. Just because I'm from the Seam, she's putting me on the floor. Not that I really care where I sleep. But that's crossing a line.

"My sister's upstairs, and I don't think you two should even come within throwing range o' each other. Lord knows, you two would destroy each other, and my kitchen, in seconds."

Oh. Well. I guess, if that's her reason for- wait.

"How do you know so much about me?"

She hasn't said it outright, but I can tell by her comments that she knows who I am.

She waves a hand dismissively. "My family talks."

"About?"

"Oh, everything. Occasionally customers." She tips her own cup towards me. "Ya trade squirrels."

"Mr. Mellark told you about me," I say. Now things are starting to make sense. "But how did you recognize me?"

A smile creeps onto her face, and with it, all resemblance to her sister vanishes. "Ya may not know this," she chuckles, "But my nephew has the biggest crush on ya."

"Peeta," I saw, and I can tell by the heat in my cheeks that I'm blushing.

Her smile grows wider, more playful. "Oh, I see." She leans toward me across the table. "So, you finally like 'im back? That's a relief. I thought he'd be talking my ears off about you forever. Been near ten years already."

I start to respond, and then stop, halted by her last sentence. "Ten years? What do you mean?"

"Well, let's see. Firs' time he mentioned you, if I remember right, was… five years old."

I blink, twice. "No. That can't be right. He didn't even know me until a couple months ago."

"I'm sure of it!" she cackles. "Talked about your singin' voice. Said the birds were listenin'."

I'm baffled. Can that be right? Did I sing when I was five? Yes, of course I did. I sang all the time when I was younger. But why would five-year-old Peeta hear it and remember it strongly enough to travel across town and tell his aunt? And then, apparently, he talked about me again. Several times, at least. The information is so impossible and unexpected that I don't know how to feel about it.

"Anyway." She stands up and goes around the corner again. I hear a muffled, "I'll get you blankets!" before the rhythmic stomp of boots signifies she's going upstairs.

I don't do anything but sit and stare into my cup and think. When she comes back, I'm still thinking.

"There."

I look. She's set up a nice little bed for me, right next to the fireplace. It's made up of several cushions that look like they came off a couch, at least a dozen lumpy, hand-knitted blankets and an embroidered pillow. It's better than I hoped for.

"Thank you," I say, and I mean it. I expected maybe one or two blankets and the demand to be gone by sunrise.

Something occurs to me.

"What's your name? I've got to call you something besides just _Peeta's aunt_."

She scowls, hesitating. "Meg."

"Meg?" I ask, puzzled. What's so bad about Meg?

"Short for Nutmeg," she grumbles, and tromps upstairs.

I have to stifle my giggle. Of course it's short for Nutmeg. She is, after all, related to the Mellarks.

The improvised bed is comfortable, and what with the fire warming me on the outside and the tea warming me on the inside, I fall asleep quickly. I just hope Peeta and the others aren't worrying about me too much.


	25. Chapter 25

**~Katniss POV~**

It's not even light out when Meg shakes me awake. I scowl, miffed at being woken so unnecessarily early. But, then, she says, "You'd best be up and movin', girl. My sister gets up before the sun does."

Grudgingly, I sit up, pushing the blankets off me. The window lets in a miniscule amount of light, just enough that I can see the gray outline around the curtains. Nonetheless, the oven in the corner is already going, heat radiating off it. On the table is another steaming mug and a plate. I hoist myself up onto the chair and yawn a short, "Thank you," to Meg before eating the breakfast laid out for me. Toast with jam and blueberry tea. She stands by the table, patiently waiting for me to finish it off before whisking away the dishes and shoving a shawl at me.

"Here," she grunts. "I'm not sendin' you out again without anything. It's still cold."

"Thanks."

With that, I'm steered outside. She doesn't so much as wish me goodbye before closing the door, but I don't mind. She was kind to me, in her own gruff way. In fact, she reminds me a little of myself.

It isn't snowing anymore. Drifts lean up against walls, half as tall as me and tinged gray with Twelve's perpetual layer of coal dust. Really, it isn't nearly as bad as a lot of the blizzards we've had. Once, the pathway to town was a good foot above doorframes if you had snowshoes, and several feet above your head if you didn't. Needless to say, not many people were out shopping for that month.

In the daylight, it's easier to recognize my surroundings. I've never been in this part of town before, but I know it's near the train station. And, yes, there are the hills that curve around the district in a half-circle. I'm maybe two miles from the town center. Odd- it seemed like so much farther last night.

I'm so busy admiring the sparkling, finger-sized icicles fringing every tree branch and roof that I don't really register the light, quick footsteps until I'm nearly bowled over. Upon regaining my balance, I pry my attacker away from my by the shoulders, only to find myself looking into the face of Rory Hawthorne.

"Rory," I sigh. "You scared me to death."

"_I _scared _you_ to death?" he squeaks. He's right in that age where everything he says is either a squeak or a rumble. "_I _scared- Katniss, we've been looking for you since yesterday!"

"All night?" I say loudly. Surely they wouldn't be that stupid. They could have gotten frostbite, out in the snow all night long! What were they thinking?

"Well, no," he admits. "Just until after the sun went down. Gale and Mom and the Mellarks went looking for you around town, and your mom and Prim and Vick and Posy and me stayed home to wait in case you came back, and, I don't know, I guess someone was waiting at the bakery, too, but everyone was super worried, and Prim couldn't stop crying for the longest time, and they said you weren't at your old house or in the woods or-"

"Rory," I say, halting him. I know full well his tendency to keep talking until he runs out of breath.

"Right, sorry. Point is, soon as it got light out, Gale went out to start looking for you again, and I went with him."

I cock and eyebrow. It isn't 'light out' in any sense of the phrase. I can barely see three yards in front of me. Then again, Gale does have a tendency to show up in the woods while the stars are still out. This is probably plenty light out for him.

"Okay, well, where is he?"

"Woods," he says, confirming my suspicions. Of course he'd check there first.

"All right. Let's go find him."

Turns out, we don't need to. As soon as we trudge into the Seam, our boots crunching through the hard, icy layer on top of the snow, Gale swings around the corner. He takes one look at me and pulls me into a bone-crushing hug.

"Don't you ever-" He stresses the word _ever._ "Do that again."

"I'll try not to," I say dryly. "It was less than fun."

Allowing me to pull away just enough to look at him, he asks, "What happened, Catnip?"

"Well, I stormed out of the house, got lost in a blizzard, found shelter with a lady named after a spice and slept next to the fireplace," I sum up. I'm not particularly in the mood for details.

"What-? Never mind. You wouldn't believe the state Prim's in. Come on, let's go let he know you're okay."

But at the word _Prim,_ I'm already off, walking as quickly as I can across the crusted drifts. Prim. She must be hysterical, and she probably blames herself… Oh, why was I so stupid? The poor thing. And Rory said she hasn't stopped crying! Stupid, stupid, stupid. Leaving her there all alone? I am a miserable excuse for a big sister.

The moment I get through the door, I gather her up in my arms, rocking her gently back and forth. Her hair is still in braids and she's wearing Dad's- my- leather jacket over her clothes. The jacket, which is an extra-large fit on me, swallows her up completely. Her thin, fragile shoulders shake as she clings to me.

"I'm sorry!" she wails. I was right when I guessed that she blamed herself. I press my face into her hair.

"Oh, no, Prim. No, no, no, you have nothing to be sorry for. Look, I'm fine, see? I'm fine. I found someplace to spend the night. Don't cry, Prim, it's okay."

"But if I hadn't teased you, you wouldn't have left," she sniffles.

Teased me? What is she- Oh. I remember now. She said something about Peeta, and it made me mad. It was part of the reason I stormed out. Odd, how small and unimportant it seems now. "No," I croon. "No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have been so stubborn."

Remembering my mother, I look up and give her a reassuring gesture from across the room. She nods, scanning me for injuries before doing the same for Prim.

I hold her until she calms down, then look her over myself. She didn't sleep, that much is apparent. Her young, lovely face is burdened by tired eyes and tearstains, and it's just so _wrong_ that I immediately get a wet washcloth to wipe them away. I then boil water, fill a bottle and send her to bed with it, tucking all the blankets in the house snugly around her. It's still early enough that she should get some hours, at least.

Gale and Rory are still here, and I give them both a hug before walking them to their own house. Gale takes my hand and warns me to be more careful before closing the door behind him.

I count people on my fingers. Mom and Prim. Gale, Rory, Vick, Posy and Hazelle. All home and safe. That leaves Peeta. I hesitate. Should I go to the bakery now, while everyone is settled in? Would it be too early, or would they already be up and baking? Maybe I should wait, at least until the time I would usually be over. How much has Peeta been worrying about me? At least as much as Prim, if I know him…

As I wander through my own door and sink down on the foot of the bed, I remember something. Meg said that the first time Peeta mentioned me was when he was five years old, talking about my singing voice. I was, and still am, baffled by this. That can't be right. And, yet, it feels almost like it could be true. I used to sing all day, every day when I was little. I was a carefree, happy thing back then, before I witnessed for myself how cruel life could be. And the part about the birds listening… They used to do that for my father. He would sing, and the forest would fall respectfully silent at the sound of his voice. _Could_ it be true? Did five-year-old Peeta hear me sing, hear the birds stop to listen to me? Could he have had a crush on me for the past ten years without my even knowing it? It would explain the glances in the school hallways, and the sketches, and the cupcakes… But a crush like that can't be called a crush. Not a crush that lasted ten whole years. No, it would be more like… love.

The word throws the emergency brakes on my thoughts. Love? Does Peeta love me? What do I think of that? What _should_ I think of that? And… do I want him to?

I jump off the bed as if I was sitting on hot coals. Fingers fumbling, I yank on a sweater and my jacket, strap on my snow boots and run out the door. My mother and Prim don't wake up, thank God. I don't know how I would explain myself if they did. I slip and stumble in the snow, jogging towards the bakery. I don't care about the early hour. The sun's about to come up by now, anyway, and if they're not awake I'll wait until they are. I want answers, and I'm going to get them.


	26. Chapter 26

**Hello! :D I am ****_so_**** excited for you guys to read this chapter. So, if you've got time, a review would be very much appreciated. ****:)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

Mr. Mellark enfolds me into a bear hug as soon as he sees me, mumbling how worried they all were and that I am never to do that to them again. I quickly hug him back, assuring him that I'm fine and briefly explaining where I was. He must see how jittery I am, because he chuckles and says, "Forgive me. You must be anxious to see Peeta."

"Yes," I say, even though my reasons for wanting to see Peeta are probably completely different than one might think. I don't want hugs or reassurances. I want answers.

I'm escorted behind the counter, into the kitchen and up the stairs before Mr. Mellark deems me capable of finding the rest of the way on my own. Rye waves to me on the way by, and Sand rolls his eyes before going back to mixing something. I consider flipping him off, but decide against it. After all, Mr. Mellark is still watching.

Peeta is in his room, next to the closet. I get to the doorway and stop, gnawing on the inside of my cheek and wondering what to say. He pulls out a coat, slipping one arm into it while he turns around. And then he catches sight of me. He freezes, his blue eyes going wide. I barely have time to react before he's halfway across the room and hugging me so fiercely I think I might combust from the intensity. His arms are wrapped around me so tightly that my toes lift off the floor, and my feet swing gently back and forth as he rocks me. With his face still buried in my hair, he whispers, "Oh, Katniss."

I think that might be all he's going to say, he's quiet for so long, but then he goes on.

"I was so worried."

I've heard this sentence multiple times over the past few hours, and each time it leaves another dose of guilt inside me. But, somehow, Peeta manages to say it in just the right way to break my heart. I close my eyes, because I can't bear to see how hurt he must be. How disappointed. I know I was being selfish. I know I was stubborn and juvenile and petulant. I don't need anyone to tell me that. So how can those four words shatter me so easily?

He leans back just far enough to look at me, I presume, but my eyes are still closed. I feel a hand trace along my temple and brush back a strand of hair.

"Katniss?"

I don't acknowledge him.

"Katniss? What's wrong?"

He tries to pull my chin up, but I shake my head. In my guilt, I forgot why I came here. I can't wait any longer, or I'm going to lose my nerve.

Without opening my eyes, I take a step back. Then another.

"Katniss?" There's a note of panic in his voice now.

Finally, I open my eyes, but I don't look at him. I fix my gaze on the ground in front of us. "I was with your aunt," I say flatly. "She had some interesting things to say."

"Aunt Meg? Katniss, what are you talking about?" He steps forward. I step back. His voice breaks. "What's going on?"

I can tell how much this is hurting him, my distancing myself, and I hate it. But I know if I go back into his arms now, there's no way I'll be able to ask. I lower my voice to keep it from shaking, and it comes out sounding hard as steel. "She said you've had a crush on me since we were children."

If my ears weren't so trained from years of hunting, I might not hear his breath hitch. After that, silence.

"Well?" It's not even so much of a question as a demand. I'm waiting for him to answer. Why isn't he answering?

"Well?!" I look at him. He's standing exactly where I left him, looking just as panicked as he sounded last time he spoke. Except, he's not speaking now, just looking at me with this expression like he knows he's been caught and doesn't know how to get out of it. My patience snaps, made brittle by the high stress of the morning, and I all but shout, "Answer me!"

He flinches. "Yes." It's so quiet I barely hear it.

"So it's true?"

I'm turning this over in my head, examining it. If Peeta has had a crush on me for ten years- and that's some heck of a crush- why didn't he ever speak to me before this? Why did it take a lost sketchbook for him to talk to me? And when I went to return the sketchbook, he seemed distracted… Was it because his friends were there? Is he ashamed of his crush on me? Because I'm from the Seam?

As I'm arriving at this conclusion, Peeta shakily runs his fingers through his hair, causing it to stick up messily. He opens and closes his mouth several times. At last he says, "Katniss, I'm…"

"What?" I snarl.

"Yeah, it's true." His hands jump from his hair to his sleeves to his hair again, finally settling in his pockets. I glance up at his face just in time to catch him peering at me from under his eyelashes. "I just… I heard you sing on the first day of school. The Valley song. I thought it was beautiful…" He trails off into a whisper, then stops entirely, but I don't move. I wait for him to go on. I can't speak, can't breathe, I can just stare at him. He sees me looking, and maybe this gives him some confidence, because he continues. "You had on a red plaid dress and your hair… it was in two braids instead of one. My father pointed you out when we were waiting to line up. He said, 'See that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner.'"

"You're making that up," I accuse sharply. The baker? And my mother? No.

"No, it's true," Peeta insists. He rushes on before I can speak again. "And I said, 'A coal miner? Why did she want a coal miner if she could have had you?' And he said, 'Because when he sings… even the birds stop to listen.'"

I gape at him. That's true. The birds _did_ stop to listen when my father sang. But, if that part of the story is true, could the whole thing…? Could it- is it- do I want-? I can't finish any of my thoughts. They bounce around inside my skull, cutting each other off.

"So that day, in the music assembly, the teacher asked who knew the valley song. Your hand shot straight up in the air. She stood you up on a stool and had you sing it for us. And I swear, every bird outside the windows fell silent." He pauses, gauging my reaction. All I can do is listen, and remember. I did sing that day. I did wear a red dress.

"And right when your song ended, I knew- just like your mother- I was a goner," Peeta ends. He takes a deep breath, looking straight into my eyes. "That's it. It's the truth. Take it however you like."

It takes me a long time to talk. Peeta stands there, his hair messed up and his jacket still hanging off just one of his arms. His eyes aren't quite so wide anymore, as if telling the story has rid him of some of his apprehension. I can understand that. Now, there's nothing he can do but wait for me to respond.

"Why… did it take you… so long?" I manage. I sound as if I've gone days without water.

"I was scared," he admits. "I didn't want you to think I was… I don't know. Weird or lame or… not good enough."

What _do_ I think? I think it's absurd. I think it's odd and cliche and unexpected, but mostly _sweet_, and so very like Peeta, and-

I stalk forward, pulling my fist back to punch him in the jaw. It surprises both of us when I tangle my fingers in his hair for a kiss, instead.


	27. Chapter 27

**Well, guys, we're coming close to the end of this story. :( Only one more chapter to go, after this, I'm afraid.**

**I'm sorry if this chapter seems a little rushed, but the plot's just about finished up and there's not much reason to drag it out. **

**Also: there will be a sequel, ****_if_**** you guys want it. It will follow the story of our favorite couple into the games, but with one major difference from the book: they are, obviously, already in love. **

_**If you want me to write the sequel, by all means let me know. **_**After all, there's not much point in writing it if there's no interest in it. :)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

**~Peeta POV~**

When I see her fist come up, I close my eyes, readying myself for the punch. Somehow, no matter how hard she hits me, I know that the pain of her rejection will outweigh the pain of the strike. When she pulled away from me, avoiding eye contact, I felt as if a metal band was contracting around my chest. And now that metal band is so tight I can't take a single breath. I've ruined it. I've destroyed any chance of being with Katniss. Her footsteps are right in front of me now, and I brace myself.

I'm so prepared for the hit, so expecting a flash of pain, that I don't even understand what happens instead. Something soft presses against my lips and something else slides up the back of my neck and into my hair. A moment later, I realize it's Katniss. Kissing me. Kissing me? But- wasn't she just about to punch me? Then I close my eyes, having opened them in surprise a moment before, and wrap my arms around her. I don't really understand her reasons behind this, but, at the moment, I don't care. As long as she doesn't walk away, like I was so afraid she would.

Too soon, she leans back. I take a moment just to look at her, questions pinging off my head one after the other. At last I say, "That was… Unexpected. I thought you were going to hit me."

"So did I," she says.

"And… why didn't you?"

She looks at me, her silver eyes just a few inches away. "How could I?"

While I have a thousand questions, there's only one that I really need to ask. "Are you mad at me?"

She only hesitates for a second before saying, "No."

I lean my forehead against hers and run a hand down the back of her head, across her braid. All I can think is, _Thank God._

* * *

Springtime sneaks up on District Twelve. A fringe of green here, a snowdrop blossom there. Before anyone quite realizes it, winter is over. The second Katniss spies the Spring birds starting to roost in the trees, she's up and running. Every day, she gets up before sunrise to work on the house. It seems as if she's finally accepted the new cabin as her home, after months of regarding it with resentment. With the help of Prim, her mother, me, the Hawthornes and occasionally my father or Rye, she's fixed almost all of the structure's weak points. The walls no longer have holes in them, and are reinforced with an extra layer of planks on the inside. The roof has been completely re-done, layers of waterproof grasses pressed between wood. The chimney is carefully, scrupulously polished and repaired, leaving not a speck of debris anywhere. Any branch within ten feet of it is hacked off its tree. Katniss makes sure of this.

She tries to hide it, but I can tell how scared Katniss is of fire. Or, more importantly, of things catching on fire. She can handle the flame in the fireplace, used for cooking meals and heating the house. But one escaped spark sends her running for water. Once, while we were just finishing up on the roof, I mentioned this. She gave me a scowl and a push, nearly sending me tumbling off the roof. After that, I was careful to not to tease her while more than five feet above the ground.

Now, the house is almost done. All that it needs is one new pane of glass in the front window, which Katniss traded for an exorbitant price in the Hob. We offered to help pay for it, but she, of course, refused. She lifts the delicate square out of its wrappings, handling it by the very edges. Prim drags her fingers along the wooden window frame, coating it with a sort of glue. Then Katniss presses the pane to the empty space in the window, I hammer on the other half of the frame and we all slowly let our hands drop. The glass stays in place.

The moment feels important, like someone should say something to acknowledge it.

"Looks like we're done," Katniss says in her usual brisk style. She starts to clean up the tools scattered on the floor, but I pause her with a hand on her shoulder.

"It's a wonderful house," I proclaim. "Even more so since you all contributed to it." I smile around at the small crowd in the cabin, and receive several smiles in return.

"Don't forget yourself, Peeta," Mrs. Everdeen says gently. "You helped a great deal, too."

I nod, but wave the comment off. "Happy to help, ma'am."

The crowd disintegrates as the Hawthornes wander back to their own home, with promises of a shared dinner later, and my father claps me on the shoulder before heading out the door to help Prim with something. Katniss dons her jacket, saying she's going to give Sae back a tool she borrowed. Then it's just me and Mrs. Everdeen in the newly finished house.

I'm about to excuse myself, too, but then she speaks. It's so rare for Mrs. Everdeen to speak in the presence of anyone who isn't family, unless she's tending to a patient, that I know it must be important. "Thank you."

"Well, you're most welcome, but for what?"

"For this." She raises her arms, palms up, indicating the house. Then, as her hands fall to her sides again, she says, "And for Katniss. It's good that you're with her. She's always been a headstrong little thing… Seems like she's a little easier to handle, now."

"Headstrong, she is," I agree. "But I wouldn't say any improvement is because of me."

Mrs. Everdeen flicks straight a tablecloth that doesn't need straightening, then folds her hands in front of her primly. "Maybe so. But still, thank you. You've done a lot for our family. I hope you'll stay in it."

Just as it's a rare occurrence for Mrs. Everdeen to have so much to say, it's equally rare for me to be speechless.

Before I can think of a single adequate thing to say, Prim and my father come back. Prim skips to the fireplace, dumping an armful of wood in the box next to it, while my father stops in front of me. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," I say, because for once I can't think of a suitable response. Mrs. Everdeen has already lapsed into silence, as if she never spoke.

On the way home, I roll the conversation over in my head. _"You've done a lot for our family. I hope you'll stay in it."_ Now I think I understand where Katniss gets her ability to utterly confuse you with one sentence. Stay in it? Am I considered part of the Everdeen's family? The thought sends a flush of happiness into my cheeks, for obvious reasons. _Trust me, Mrs. Everdeen, I'm doing all I can to stay in your family._

This is possibly the best evening I've had all year.

* * *

I was wrong. The _best_ evening comes just as the seasons change, in that mild time when the freshness of spring still clings to everything at the same time as the lush warmth of summer. Katniss and I walk along the path that leads from the Seam to the Town Center. She frowns at the ground in front of her, stabbing the earth with every step. She won't tell me what she's upset about, but I know her well enough to leave it alone. Either she'll tell me or she'll let it go, eventually.

It's a nice evening, the sky streaked with orange and purple and the gray tinge of coal dust momentarily lessened by today's thunderstorm. I try to absorb it all, breathe in the cool, sweet air until my lungs can't hold any more.

"I love you."

Katniss keeps walking a couple steps after I've stopped, then turns around, her eyes downcast. I can't do anything but gape at her as she grinds the toe of one of her boots into the ground, carefully avoiding my gaze. Then, all at once, a big, silly grin jumps onto my face. "What?"

"You heard me," she mumbles, and I can see her neck and cheeks deepening in shade every second.

"Yeah." I step closer and put an arm around her. "But I want to hear it again."

She grimaces, but humors me. Very quietly. "I love you."

I kiss her. "There. Was that so hard?"

"Yes," she snaps, turning around and starting to walk again. I laugh. She goes back to attacking the ground.

"Was that what was bothering you?"

She shrugs. "I guess. I just didn't know…"

I nod when she trails off, letting her know she doesn't have to continue. I get it.

"I love you, too."

A smile flickers across her face until she remembers to be annoyed and replaces it with a scowl. Just to irk her, I add, "I love you to the moon and back."

"Please, let's not get too cheesy here," she grumbles, but barely finishes before I catch her by the waist and swing her around in the cheesiest fashion possible. Then I set her down and bump my nose against hers in an Eskimo-kiss.

"Stop!" she says, but lets a rare giggle escape her as she wriggles free and flits down the path, out of my reach. I laugh at her again.

Yup, life is good. I can only hope it lasts.

* * *

**Summer time, my lovely readers! And you know what that means... The Games are coming. (Dun dun dun!)**

**Like I said before, if you'd like a sequel, let me know in a review if you've got time.**

**Until next time!**


	28. Chapter 28

**You guys. You are too much. I never expected such a loyal and enthusiastic readership. I love you all.**

**I'm ****_so_**** happy that you enjoyed reading my fluffy randomness. I sure enjoyed writing it. :)**

**And yes, ****_there will be a sequel_****. I will post an A/N as another chapter on this story, so it's easy for you to find it the sequel once I've begun work on it.**

**Thank you guys so much for reading, and, as always, enjoy.**

* * *

**~Katniss POV~**

Prim has gotten jumpy. She flinches at every loud noise and her violet-blue eyes are perpetually wide. I know why. Summer is well onto the district, and for all the twelve-year-olds here, that means it won't be long until their first time standing in front of the stage, hoping, praying they won't be picked. Of course, it's rare that a twelve-year-old is drawn, out of the hundreds of slips in the bowls. You should really start worrying about the time you're fourteen, old enough to build up a nice, large selection of tesserae entries. I wouldn't let Prim take any, though she offered with a tremulous voice. Sweet Prim. Brave Prim. That day I went to the Justice Building and came back with a wagon full of coarse grain. The number of slips with my name on them rose to twenty.

She hasn't had any nightmares yet, that I know of, but it's only a matter of time. In the two weeks between now and the reaping, it will only get worse. Already, I am plagued by the thoughts of arenas and Gamemaker traps and tribute parades gone wrong. Soon the nightmares will start for both of us.

In this way, I envy Peeta. Being from Town, living in the bakery, he has never had to take a single tesserae slip in his life. I suppose that gives him five entries, this year. And his brothers are the same. No worrying about them. Plus, Sand is nineteen and done with the reaping. It's almost too bad. As soon as I think this, I scold myself. I should wish no one into the games, not even a jerk like Sand.

If I can forget about the upcoming Games, life is good. Better than it's been in a while, actually. Summer means good, plentiful food. Berries bursting with dark, tart juice, fishing nets fat with slippery bodies, traps almost always occupied. Greasy Sae whips up concoctions that actually taste like food- rabbit stew with chunks of savory roots and real gravy. Mr. Mellark can always be counted on to slip an extra treat into the bag when he trades for squirrels. School lets out and the Hob stocks up on supplies that are scarce in winter.

Once, on our customary walk from the Meadow to the bakery, Peeta takes my hand and sighs. The corners of his mouth are turned down in a pensive frown. It's an unusual expression on him.

"What?" I ask.

"I'm worried about you."

"You're always worried about me."

"About the reaping."

This puts a scowl on my own face. "Don't bother. Just don't think about it. It's what I do."

He's quiet for a moment. "How many?" he says.

"Twenty," I answer, not needing to ask what he means.

He winces.

"It's not that bad," I rush to reassure him. "Really. I'm a lot luckier than a lot of people. Gale has forty-two in, this year."

I realize too late that even if this piece of information encourages Peeta, it only serves to worry me. Every slip of paper with my name, Gale's name, Peeta's name, every one of them is like a poison seed in my stomach, slowly burning an icy path through me.

Peeta's grip on my hand tightens and he puts a bounce into his step, swinging our arms back and forth between us. "So," he says a little too brightly. "What will you be doing today?"

"Working. I promised the Hawthorne's I'd help chop down a tree in front of their house. It's been dropping too much debris on their roof. What about you?"

"Baking." He shrugs. "As usual."

Sometimes I envy Peeta. And sometimes, I feel bad for him. Like now. Not much has ever been expected of me. I don't have any older siblings to live up to. I don't have a family business to take over. The most anyone has expected of me is to show up with dead animals to trade. Peeta doesn't say so, but I can tell that his family expects a lot of him. His mother, especially. And her anger isn't something you want to be on the receiving side of. He has to outshine his brothers if he wants to take over the bakery business, and then, if he does, he won't ever get to do anything else. I think he could easily support himself on art, if he didn't have his family to answer to. And if we didn't live in District Twelve.

My train of thought ends as we come to the apple tree behind the bakery. Peeta dips his head to kiss me, squeezes my hands and goes inside. I pause. This is the tree I collapsed under, that day in the rain. The day Peeta Mellark saved my life. So much has changed since then. Now I'm older, but not just that. I'm a huntress and a survivor. People know me, and, dare I say, respect me. I'm no longer the trembling, emaciated little girl I was then, crouching in the mud and waiting to die. I press my palm to the scratchy bark, resting my forehead lightly against the trunk. "Thank you," I say.

When I turn to leave, I see a curtain drop in an upstairs room, and I wonder who was watching me.

Prim sticks to my side, a human barnacle, for the rest of the day. Even when I'm high up in the branches, helping Gale saw off the smaller limbs before we attack the trunk, she watches me from the nearest window. I smile at her. Poor thing. The next few months will be awful for her. More so this year because of the newness of it, though she's seen it all before. It's different when you become part of it, even in the most minimal way.

"Watch it, Catnip!"

I let go just in time as the branch crashes to earth, nearly bringing me with it. Another second and it would have dragged me along, condemned by my own strong but idle grip.

"Sorry," I say.

Gale lets out a breath and nods, handing the saw down to Rory, handle-first, and comes to sit by me. "It's okay. We're all distracted. Tell you what, let's... Let's go inside, take a break."

I jerk my head, sliding down the trunk. My boots hit the ground with a dry thud. It's been unusually hot this year, even for the middle of summer, and the clay-ish ground sucks up all the moisture from the air. A break and a drink of water will be much appreciated.

Hazel smiles at us from her place by the wash bin and Prim leans against her. Posy and Vick play a game with some round, smooth stones beside the fireplace and Rory tries to look nonchalant as he sidles up to Prim with a dandelion blossom behind his back. I stretch my cramped fingers and smile around at my family. Well. Most of my family.

I lean back, accept the cup of water that's handed to me and close my eyes. In the darkness, the bright yellow of the flower burns like the flame of a candle. With the presence of the dandelion, my family is complete. I think of Peeta, possibly the one watching me as I thanked the apple tree for my second chance. And, when I open my eyes to see Prim shyly take the flower, it seems only right that I can spot a clump of them just outside the door.

Life is good, for now. And, I've learned, _now_ is all that matters. The past is gone and the future is unsure. So I go to the door, pluck a flower and bite down on the bitter taste of life.


End file.
